The Ties That Bind
by Malianani
Summary: An old friend of Teaspoon's arrives in Rock Creek and awakens a mystery from Buck's past.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1Chapter 1

"Rider Comin'!" Lou called as a cloud of dust billowed in the distance.

"Finally!" Cody ran for his horse.

"Thought you might be doomed to finish your chores today, eh Cody?" Noah smirked.

"Very funny," Cody scowled.

Teaspoon squinted down at his pocket watch. "I always thought McMasters was as slow as a two-legged turtle, but he's exactly one hour and seventeen minutes late according to my calculations. It's a new record—even for him."

"Wait a minute," Kid called out from over by the barn as the brown mare galloped into the station rider-less. "It's a runaway!"

Though the horse was clearly spooked, she was even more worn out, and Kid was able to calm her down and take the reigns.

"Maybe I spoke too soon," Noah said as a dejected Cody descended from his mount.

Teaspoon stepped forward and began stroking the horse's flanks. She was bathed in sweat. Down her left side dripped a crimson streak of blood.

"Is she hurt bad?" Lou questioned.

"This isn't her blood," Kid replied.

"Looks like we got ourselves a bit of trouble," Teaspoon said as he turned to eye his charges.

Hickock caught the Marshal's gaze. "You think McMasters was ambushed like Martin and Saunders?"

A heavy silence enveloped the group. Over the last ten days, two other riders had been murdered in cold blood—one near Big Sandy and the other just outside Pacific Springs. Each man's body was found riddled with arrows and bullet holes. The mail had been stolen in both cases. Most certainly, Indians were on the attack—ready to terrorize the white men who desecrated their lands into submission.

Teaspoon hesitated a moment before he answered, "I don't know, Jimmy. But it don't look good."

"Them Indians is always causin' trouble," Cody grumbled. "We ain't hurtin' them none. And they turn around and kill innocent men. We're just deliverin' the mail. Since when was that a crime?"

Noah stole a glance at Buck who stood a step behind the rest of them. His face was gray and solemn—his dark eyes, eerily calm. Noah knew from experience that that was not a good sign. It was time to diffuse the situation. "We ain't even sure it is Indians," he said. "Heck, we can't be sure McMasters is dead till someone finds him. He mighta just been thrown. You oughta know about that, Cody."

"I ain't never seen a man bloody his horse like that from a fall," Cody retorted.

"All right!" Teaspoon ordered. "We ain't got time to argue. We still got to get the mail through. And it looks like in order to do that, we need to find the mail and hopefully the man who was deliverin' it." He eyed them all in turn. They knew what was coming.

"I'll go look for him!" Cody volunteered.

"I don't think so." Teaspoon's gaze fell on Buck. "If this is Indian work, Buck'd know who mighta done it. 'Sides, he's the best tracker we got. Well, Buck?"

From the metallic glint in Teaspoon's eye, Buck knew he had little choice. "All right, I'll go."

"Teaspoon, you ain't gonna send Buck out there alone are you?" Noah asked.

"Of course not. You're goin' with him." The Marshal turned to the others. "Jimmy, Kid, I want you to head out to the army's camp outside Dry Sandy. Captain Jacobs has been expectin' some of that mail that didn't arrive today and we'll have to admit there's been a delay. And while you're there, see if you can't find out if they've had any more trouble than usual with the Natives lately. The minute any of you find anything out, come find me at the jailhouse."

"Wait a minute! What do I get to do, Teaspoon?" Cody whined. "I'm as good as Jimmy or Kid at deliverin' a message."

Noah lifted himself gracefully onto his horse and laughed. "Seems to me like there's plenty of manure to spread. You always been good at doin' that!"

Buck smiled to himself as he saw Cody's face burst like a Chinese firecracker. Noah always knew just what to say.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Chapter 2

Buck and Noah had decided to follow the most direct route back to the last way station at South Pass, but that strategy was proving futile. After three hours of hard riding, they remained empty handed. Wherever McMasters and his horse had parted ways, it was nowhere near the most well-traveled route.

The sun began to dip in the west and Noah felt a welcome coolness rise up from the earth as evening approached. He breathed it in gladly, then glanced over at his friend. Buck sat quietly in his saddle—his dark eyes trained out somewhere beyond the horizon. Even as Noah stared at him, Buck's face remained expressionless. They'd ridden like this for almost three hours and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. Noah liked Buck, but wasn't always comfortable with his moods. He was especially uncomfortable with this mood in particular. When Buck fell silent for long spaces like this—obviously lost in his own grief—Noah felt powerless to help. And powerlessness was not a feeling he relished.

These moods had hit more frequently since Ike passed. For his part, Noah could hardly understand what kind of friendship those two had shared; one so deep and full that now, with Ike gone, Buck seemed only half alive. Ike _was_ Buck's best friend. Noah could only imagine how much they had gone through together in the days before he'd met them. Noah could understand the isolation that Buck must have been feeling without Ike around to stand up for him against constant social prejudice. He couldn't help but think that now Buck was paying a heavy price for that friendship—a price no one should have to pay.

The more Noah mulled it over, the more the silence got under his skin. "Buck, you see anything that might give us a clue about this rider? Feels like we've been ridin' around in circles for hours. I'm about ready to give up."

Noah hadn't expected a reply, but was pleasantly surprised to finally hear Buck's voice. "I think there might be something up ahead," he said.

"If there ain't, you're gonna owe me one for followin' you all the way out here with no lunch!" Noah joked.

Buck eyed his partner carefully. Then he smiled. "You sound just like Cody."

Noah snickered—relieved to see Buck becoming his old self again. Suddenly, he spied something out of the corner of his eye. "What do you suppose that is?"

Over to the left of them lay a relatively rocky area dotted here and there with weedy shrubs and stumpy trees. A dark lump, which Noah, in the waning light, first thought was a rock, proved to be otherwise.

The two dismounted and began probing the area. It was McMasters. His back was riddled with arrows and bullet holes. Part of his scalp was missing. Noah noticed that the mail pouch was nowhere to be found.

Buck plucked out one of the arrows and studied it carefully. He then scanned the ground with a deft eye. Noah saw him sigh in frustration as his face went white.

"It was Indians, wasn't it?" Noah ventured.

Buck took a moment to regain some composure. "I don't know," he said finally. "Looks like he was killed and then dumped over here. The ground's too rocky to know how many horses there were—but I'd say no more than five." He glanced down at the bloody arrow clenched in his fist. "Looks like Kiowa—but it don't make sense. They just signed a peace treaty."

"Its getting dark, Buck," Noah said as he felt that uncomfortable silence begin to rise up between them once more. "We better head back to town and tell Teaspoon what we found."

"You go. I want to head out to the way station at South Pass and see if the stationmaster might be able to give us some information to work with. I'll meet you back at the express station later." Buck tugged hard at his horse's reigns. "I think it's safe for us to split up."

Noah knew enough not to argue with Buck when he got determined to do something. He nodded in compliance, then mounted up and spurred his horse in the direction of Rock Creek.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Chapter 3

The air was thick with tension as Noah entered town. He immediately understood why Buck had sent him back alone. Half of Rock Creek was gathered in the street in front of Teaspoon's jail fuming with suspicion and boiling with prejudice. No surprise to Noah, Tomkins was the loudest.

"Teaspoon, we demand to know just where our mail is. I heard about what happened to those other express riders. I bet this one was murdered by Indians, too!"

"Hold yer horses Tomkins," Teaspoon ordered. "No one knows just what happened, as yet. I'm sorry for any inconvenience caused to anyone expectin' mail from the Pony Express, but these things do happen from time to time."

"Bein' bushwhacked and scalped by Indians happens all right," Tomkins replied acidly. "But it is your sworn duty to protect us from those heathens! Or has that half-breed of yours made you soft?"

Teaspoon clenched his teeth. "Buck ain't got nothin' to do with this, Tompkins."

"I for one know that he's part Kiowa," Tompkins shot out. "And it was the Kiowa that stole Jeb Jarrit's horses and have been digging up half the farmland from here to Blue Creek! Stealin' wasn't enough for 'em. Now, they're out for blood!"

Teaspoon only half-heard the shopkeeper—his mind on what kind of Nirvana Rock Creek would be if that man had had his tongue cut out. But the roar of the crowd soon brought him back to his senses.

"Tomkins, if I was you, I'd shut yer trap before I jail you for inciting the town to riot." The Marshal turned to the crowd. "I want you all to disperse. Now!" With no positive response to that order forthcoming, Teaspoon casually fired his gun into the air. "Listen up! No one said any rider had been killed. We're at this very minute findin' out what happened, and the second I know somethin', I will fulfill my sworn duty and _tell _you all. I can say right now that Rock Creek ain't in no danger of Indian attacks. Now go about yer business—all of you!"

With that, the crowd reluctantly broke up. _Thank God for Teaspoon!_ Noah thought as he tied up his horse. But he knew it was only a matter of time before the townsfolk grew restless again. Noah was experienced enough with that kind of hate to know the only thing that would appease it was a good hanging. He hated to think who's neck would be chosen to fill the noose.

"Noah!" Kid burst out, bringing the rider back to his senses. "Did you find anything?"

Noah glanced around himself uneasily. "We best go into the jail to talk."

"Well?" Teaspoon demanded.

"We found him. Shot in the back with enough arrows through him to make a porcupine jealous."

Jimmy glanced past Noah and out the door. "Where's Buck?"

"He decided to stop by the way station at South Pass before dark." Noah scanned the room cautiously. "Seems like from what's been happening here, that's the best decision he ever made. You all find anything helpful from the army?"

"Not particularly," Kid said as he leaned up against the jail bars. "Except that they've been expecting some important information about some kind of shipment coming through that's headed for Saint Joe. If that has anything to do with these murders, it might be that we're looking for a band of thieves. But that's all just a guess. Captain Jacobs wasn't real interested in talking all that much."

Noah frowned. "From what we found, it definitely looked like Indians that did it. But even Buck wasn't sure."

Jimmy snorted incredulously. "Wasn't sure? The man is covered with arrows and Buck, our expert scout, ain't sure?" He paused for a moment, then ventured his own theory. "I don't think Buck's doin' right by us."

"What are you sayin', Jimmy?" Teaspoon warned.

"I ain't sayin' nothin'—just that we ought to watch our backs, is all. Teaspoon, you're the one always remindin' us how Buck's split down the middle between two worlds. Well, that's a dangerous place to be. Who knows which side he's gonna choose?"

"Now Jimmy," Kid started, but his words were checked by the crack of gunfire.

"Teaspoon Hunter!" a voice cried out from the street.

Teaspoon rolled his eyes. "What now?"

"Teaspoon Aloysius Hunter, you parasite lovin' varmint! I'm callin' you out!"

"Ok, boys," Teaspoon warned as he eyed them each in turn. And even though he knew he was wasting his precious breath, he ordered them to stay inside the jail. "I'll take care of this myself."

As he stepped out, the setting sun blinded his eyes for a moment. Then, he made out the silhouette of a man standing only a few paces before him in the street. As his eyes adjusted, the shadowed figure began to develop some features.

He stood tall and lean with a long face, well tanned from about forty good years of weather. His short brown hair was dusty from miles of hard travel. Teaspoon saw that though his Indian buckskins had seen their day, the color was richly mellowed with age. He wore a pair of boots that had just about given up the ghost and his hat wasn't far behind. But around his neck hung a native treasure—a leather necklace. Bedecked with intricate beadwork, its beauty was painfully out of place with the rest of the costume. At its center lay a polished stone, which, Teaspoon thought, could have been some sort of magical jewel. It shone in the red glow of the evening like a miniature sun; its liquid hues radiated with a mix of deep golden and blood-red tones.

Teaspoon glanced up at the man's face once more. The stranger's chilly green eyes suddenly thawed as a smile dawned on his mouth. "Hell," he said, "when they told me at Blue Creek that the great Teaspoon Hunter was Marshalin' out here, I could hardly believe the old dog was still kickin'. And now I have my proof. Well, I guess I can just lay down and die right here—bein' witness to a miracle!" He laughed at the wooden expression of surprise etched into Teaspoon's face.

A few moments passed before Teaspoon found his feet and approached the stranger, openmouthed. "Jake Michaels? Is that really you or just a sorry ghost I see before me?"

"In the flesh," he answered.

The two embraced as only old comrades in crime could. "What in hell are you doin' out here?" Teaspoon was nearly at a loss for words, which made the riders, who had followed the Marshall outside, almost dumbstruck themselves.

"Teaspoon, who is that guy?" Jimmy asked as he finally removed his hand from his gun--realizing there was no need for concern.

Teaspoon reached out and grabbed Michaels by the shoulder, then turned proudly towards his friends. "Boys, I'd like you to meet one of my dearest friends from back in my Kansas law days—Mr. Jake Michaels."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Michaels." Kid stretched out a welcoming hand.

Michaels smiled. "Call me Jake."

Teaspoon introduced them all in turn, then faced his friend. "You still ain't answered my question. Why are you in these parts anyways?"

"Well, after keepin' the peace in about a dozen or so no-name towns, I finally decided to move on. I'm gonna head out to Oregon Territory and live off the land. Figured it was about time I settled down."

"Settle down!" Teaspoon laughed. "Well then, I musta mistaken you fer someone else. You can't be the Michaels I know."

"Well, Teaspoon, at one point or another, a man's just gotta grow up. Some of us sooner—some later."

"How long you plan on stayin' in town?" Noah asked.

"I was figurin' on staying a few days to load up on supplies and then take a rest while there's still some civilization in sight. Then I'll head out."

"By yourself?" Kid inquired, and Jake nodded. "Isn't that a little dangerous? There's a lot of restless Indians out there."

"Oh, I think I can get by all right," Jake answered with a certain glint in his eye that Kid couldn't quite make out.

"Don't you worry none about this joker," Teaspoon gushed. "Jake here's been courtin' death as long as I've ever known him and he always manages to keep it from reelin' him in." Teaspoon glanced around him, realizing that darkness had fully set in. "Where you stayin' while you're in town?"

"Oh, I thought I might luxuriate and spend a night at the hotel, then camp out."

"How's about you come to the Pony Express station with us and bunk out there?" the Marshall asked.

"If you don't mind Jimmy's snoring," Noah put in.

Teaspoon continued, undaunted. "Then you can learn a little more about my other occupation and meet the rest of the boys. 'Sides, we got a lot of catching up to do." Teaspoon's eyes were bright with anticipation at the thought of being able to tell a few good whoppers.

"If it isn't any trouble." Jake smiled as he sized up the eager Teaspoon. The old man was as ready as ever to accept a friend with open arms. "I'd be happy to."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 Chapter 4

Buck tossed some wood onto the campfire and gazed up at the stars. The sky was peaceful tonight. It felt like a good sign. The air was sweet and cold and he drank in a healthy dose. Surrounded by nature, Buck always felt free. He remembered the time some old friends of Rachel's had come out to Rock Creek to get married. Rachel was the maid of honor, so everyone from the station was invited to attend. He felt almost suffocated in the church—unable to move—half-afraid to breathe, lest he draw attention to himself.

It all seemed a little ridiculous to him now. If he hated it, why did he go? Would anyone have cared if he'd stayed behind? Buck thrust his knife into the ground. As the earth surrendered, he twisted the blade deep into the yielding soil. He stared, transfixed, into the fire's snapping flames. They flared proudly—like the sun's rays—reaching out to envelop the darkness. But it was a hard fight. The night was a formidable enemy.

Buck had planned to return to the express station before it became too late, but after his

visit to the way station, he thought better of it. The station master was visibly upset at learning of McMasters' untimely demise, and didn't waste any time stating his opinion about the situation.

"It's people like you that cause all this trouble," he accused, staring Buck coldly in the eye.

When Buck politely asked him if he had any information that could help him track down the killers, the stationmaster snorted.

"You know, it was only a month ago that a band of 'em raided the station and almost burned us to the ground. That was just a warning. Now, they're out to kill." He hesitated. "But why should I tell you anything? You're probably working with them. I always thought Teaspoon Hunter made a big mistake when he hired on an Indian. You can't trust any of the bastards."

Buck decided that it was futile to ask any more questions and he forced himself to walk away before his presence caused any further trouble.

If the stationmaster was that upset, Buck could only imagine how the town would react once they heard the news. And what about the riders? Buck believed somewhere in the depths of his heart that they wanted to accept him for his spirit and not his color. But when Indian trouble brewed, he knew their prejudice, however latent, was bound to get stirred up. It would be best to keep away from everyone for the night and give the situation some time to cool off, he'd decided.

Buck shivered against the growing night. The cold was beginning to penetrate his skin and he wished vainly for a blanket. The neglected fire started to die down into a smoldering heap of embers and ashes. Buck thought he should build it up again, but then decided against it. Sometimes, it was better to let things die.

His heart suddenly ached as he remembered Ike. How many nights had they spent together under a sky like this? In between jobs and too broke to pay for a hotel room—wrestling for the last piece of jerky and staring up at the stares—they may have been poor, outcast orphans, but they were happy. . .and free.

Buck remembered how, on nights like this, Ike's eyes would grow wild and his face assume a goofy mix of fear and hilarity as he tried to scare his Native friend with tales of vengeful spirits coming back from the dead. . .

But Buck knew better than to torture himself with memories. Even though the dark of night enveloped him, he had a feeling no spirits would honor him with their presence

tonight. He lay down on the hard earth and tried to sleep.

A soft breeze caressed his face and his eyes opened. Blackness gave way to a collection of thick shadows as Buck raised his eyes. A heavy yellow moon struggled to cast a weary light upon the landscape. It succeeded only in intensifying the shadows that began to crowd in around him.

Confusion stirred Buck's soul to its depths, but he could not remember how to question it. He found himself standing in the midst of this alien world clad only in a pair of buckskin trousers. In his left hand, he gripped a long smooth walking stick. Two eagle feathers dangled down from a leather strap tied to the top of the stick. His feet were bare, yet he could not feel the cold or the sharp stones that lay beneath him.

Something beyond thought beckoned him forward and he began to walk. With each step, Buck became more aware of his surroundings. He knew this place. His soul saw through the shadows and he realized he was walking through Rattlesnake Canyon. He had played here as a boy and knew every inch of it by heart.

Buck froze. There were others here. As this knowledge flooded his mind, they began to emerge. One spirit, and then another, appeared on either side of him—slowly materializing from the dust that stirred in the waking wind. Buck soon found himself surrounded by hundreds of silent figures all dressed in Kiowa costume.

Some faces, he recognized as braves who had long since perished in battle—their death wounds now bleeding afresh. Many others, he did not know. Some women stared at him with pleading eyes—their white lips slightly parted as if to speak. But in the land of spirits, they had long ago forgotten what words were. Others glanced at him with hope and then with disbelief as they turned their faces away. Still others stared vacantly through Buck and did not notice him at all—their eyes glazed over with death.

Buck now understood that the souls of his ancestors had called him to this place. But he could not think to ask why. Suddenly, he sensed another presence. He turned to find an eagle suspended in mid-air before him. It glowed like white fire—burning with its own celestial light against the shadows of Buck's ancestors who now dissolved into darkness as quickly as they had appeared. As the eagle's dark, knowing eyes reached out to him in the night, a familiar ache flew to Buck's heart. Immediately, the eagle's blazing fire disappeared as the bird was transformed into the figure of a person Buck was sure he'd never see again.

"Ike?" Buck questioned. But the word was lost in the night. No living voice could penetrate the eternal silence of the spirit world.

In the wan light, Ike stood dressed in the same clothes in which he'd been shot; the bullet wound in his chest still oozing with blood.

Buck's eyes stung with tears as he gazed upon his friend's ashen face. Though Ike's lips were forever silent, his soul spoke to Buck. It tore into his very being. Ike's eyes read his every thought; their deep sadness reflecting the seemingly immovable weight of grief that lay at the core of Buck's heart. It was a grief Buck had staunchly defended after Ike's death. He had spent many hours in silence, locked away from the world, religiously guarding it. His pain was the one living sensation he still carried that helped him feel in touch with his best friend, and he was afraid of what might happen if he allowed it to be probed. But Ike alone could reach that depth of Buck's spirit without being forced away. He understood why Buck clung to the loss—the hopelessness—that he so often felt when he thought of his dead friend.

Ike's sad, sympathetic gaze filled Buck with a strange sense of relief that caused him to loosen his grip on the pain he had carried for so long. As he opened his heart to Ike's healing power, Buck realized that his friend wanted something more of him. Ike turned his gaze from Buck and stared out before him. He began to walk ahead, and Buck felt an uncontrollable urge to follow.

Through the shadows that shrouded the canyon, Buck noticed several figures moving in the distance. Some stood, while others sat, silently by the side of a well-worn path that wove its way far into the darkness. It wasn't long before Buck realized that these figures were his friends from the Pony Express. He wanted to speak to them, but he felt strangely distant from the world in which they existed.

He passed by Cody, who sat propped up against a large rock, his face creased with pain. Buck saw that he was nursing a leg wound. Noah knelt beside him, trying to help stop the bleeding. Neither of them noticed Buck, who continued forward. Another few paces led him past Kid and Lou—searching for comfort in each other's arms. Lou's face was streaming with tears as Kid tried vainly to console her. Buck's soul was filled with compassion at the sight. As if sensing his presence, Kid looked past Lou and stared blankly at Buck. Then, he turned away. As Buck traveled onward, he spied Jimmy Hickock crouched near the path. He had suffered a minor shoulder wound. As Buck walked past, Jimmy caught his gaze. His face was as gray as any of the ghosts Buck had met that evening. Buck cringed as Hickock's accusing stare struck him squarely in the chest. _Where were you?_ His cold eyes clearly said. _Why didn't you help us?_ Buck felt these words pound over and again in his heart as he turned from Hickock and continued on behind Ike.

Ike suddenly stopped. Turning to his friend, he silently called Buck to his side. As he approached, a sudden chill shocked him and settled stubbornly in his bones. He felt compelled to seek guidance from Ike. The spirit's eyes were filled with pity. But Buck sensed something else—a flicker of hope and faith—pass over the quiet lips of his friend.

Reaching out, Ike pointed into the shadows before him. Buck was able to discern two figures a short distance away. One man was on his knees—his arms stretched to the sky. Immediately, Buck knew it was Teaspoon. The other figure stood before Teaspoon, awash in shadows that Buck could not see past. Slowly, the figure drew out a pistol and leveled it with cold precision at the Marshal's head.

Panic stricken, Buck turned to Ike. The spirit's eyes lowered and he shook his head. A violent shot rang out—shattering the silence—and the world crumpled into darkness.

Buck's eyes flew open. He clutched the earth, his breath coming in smothered gasps, as he began to make sense of his surroundings. Dawn had melted the darkness away—its soft new light gathering strength in the distance.

His horse stamped a hoof restlessly. Buck turned his head to find the cold remnants of the campfire sitting silently before him.

Slowly, his cramped fingers released their hold on the land and he sat up. He reached for Ike's bandanna, which still hung in its proud place around his neck, and he began to stroke it. He hoped for some sort of comfort, but none came. Only the images of Ike's pale face, a shadowed figure pointing a gun at a defenseless Teaspoon, and that horrible gunshot—rang through his head like an endless bell tolling a terrible future.

Buck knew that his white friends were in danger. Ike's spirit and the souls of his ancestors had given him a warning. It was a sensation he could not doubt. Yet, he also knew, as he rose stiffly to his feet, that no one would believe his vision.

As he saddled his horse, Buck gazed out at the glowing disk in the east as it climbed up over the horizon and dawn met day. He decided to keep his vision to himself and wait to see what the future held. Perhaps this new day would shed some light onto his dream.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 Chapter 5

"Rachel, that was the most delicious breakfast I have ever eaten." Jake Michaels pushed his plate away and sat back with a satisfied grin.

Rachel flashed a broad smile as she began clearing the table. "Well, that's awful kind of you to say, Mr. Michaels."

"Rachel is the finest cook there is," Teaspoon boasted. "The roof may leak and the horses may act onry, but Rachel's cookin' never fails to bring a little slice of heaven right where it counts."

Michaels laughed and turned to the others with a mischievous grin. "Well you all may have had the great fortune of enjoying the finest cookin' in all the world, but I for one have had to endure the culinary terror that is Mr. Teaspoon Hunter. And frankly, I can't believe I've lived to tell about it!"

"I feel a story comin' on," Noah predicted.

"Now hold it right there, Jake," Teaspoon ordered. But it was too late. Everyone in the room had already taken the bait.

"Well? What happened?" an impatient Lou asked.

Savoring the moment, Jake stole a glance at his old partner's humiliated face before he began. "If you must know, we were out chasing a couple of outlaws who were threatening Deadwood some years back, and we had to spend a night out on the prairie. Well, you can imagine how hungry huntin' renegades can make a man. Teaspoon, great thinker that he is, decided that the beans we brought with us would heat faster if we cooked 'em in the can."

"It is a proven fact," a defensive Teaspoon interjected, "that when you apply heat to a can of beans, they warm up faster than if you open 'em up and cook 'em in the pot. Has somethin' to do with what they call the physicals of heat an' energy." He glanced hopefully at seven disbelieving faces. "I read about it. . .somewhere. . ."

Jake grinned as the Marshal's face went red with shame. "Yeah, well I don't know all about the 'physicals' behind it, but it's most definitely a proven fact that when you heat up beans in an unopened can—they explode! You all should've seen it. Pow! Beans everywhere—dripping from Teaspoon's face—now I'll never forget that look on your face, Teaspoon. The explosion spooked off our horses. We spent the rest of the night trying to get hold of 'em. By morning, we were too dog tired to blink let alone run down outlaws. Yep. It surely was one of your finest moments, Teaspoon."

An awkward silence filled the room. Then suddenly, an anonymous snort ignited a chorus of laughter.

"All right. All right. You all go on—get yer jollies." Teaspoon's face was solemn, but his eyes betrayed a certain satisfaction that Michaels' teasing never failed to bring to his heart—even if it was at his own expense.

"Boy, Teaspoon, looks like even Jimmy beats you out at cookin'," Cody grinned at a humiliated Hickock.

Rachel's maternal eyes suddenly clouded over with concern. "I wonder where Buck is. I bet he hasn't eaten anything since yesterday's breakfast."

"Buck can take care of himself all right," the Marshal reassured.

"Teaspoon's right," Noah added. "He probably spent the night at the way station at South Pass. He didn't set out for there until it was pretty late."

Noticing Rachel's unshaken worry, Teaspoon continued, "But just to be sure, if he ain't back by lunchtime, I'll send someone out to hunt fer him." He sighed thoughtfully. "I hope the boy found somethin' helpful. This Indian trouble ain't just hurtin' the Pony Express."

Cody stole a look at Jake's necklace. "You have much experience with Indians, Jake?"

"Oh, a little," he replied. "Spent some of my earlier years as a trader back in Kansas Territory. Mostly dealt with the Sioux. In fact, that's how I picked up this necklace."

"Sure is beautiful," Rachel admitted.

Jake passed his hand over the polished stone that adorned his prize. "It's been my good luck charm for goin' on fifteen years now."

"Hard to think anyone would want to part with it," Kid said.

"Yeah, well, when you're desperate enough, you'd be willin' to part with just about anything, I suppose," Jake replied. "The Indians I traded with were really hurtin' for goods at the time. I was lucky. I only had to fork over a rifle and an old hunting knife to get it. The Indian who wore it before me swore it had the powers of the spirits in it. Now, I don't know about all that, but I can't deny that I've been one lucky man since I started wearing it."

"I don't doubt that," Teaspoon agreed. "You've cheated death more times than I can count."

Noah laughed. "Your fiasco with the beans bein' just one of those many times, I'm sure."

Jake brightened. "You know, that reminds me of the time Teaspoon got so drunk that he became convinced he wasn't cut out to be a law man and decided to start a new career at the saloon. 'Course I never thought you was the bar maid type myself, Teaspoon, but with that dress on, I swear. . ."

"Now hold on just one minute!" Teaspoon glared metallically at his friend. "First, _that_ never happened." Michaels opened his mouth to object, but Teaspoon cut him off. "An' I don't care what you got to say otherwise! Second, breakfast has been officially over for a good fifteen minutes now, and it's time fer you boys to start earnin' yer keep. There's chores to be done."

Several loud cries of dissent rang out, but Teaspoon remained firm. "Now you all git."

Reluctantly, the crowd broke up and they went their separate ways. When the room finally cleared, Teaspoon turned to Michaels. "You are one low down, double crossin', dirty rat, you know that?" He smiled. "You could never rib this old man enough, could ya son?"

"I couldn't miss the chance to torture you just one more time, Teaspoon—you oughta know that."

Teaspoon's gaze fell to his hands. "So you're really headed out West, huh?"

"Yep," Jake answered plainly. He saw Teaspoon's expression harden as he clenched his jaw tight. For a moment, the Marshal looked as if he was about to speak. But then, he seemed to think better of his words before he raised his head and stared with a cool eye at his old friend.

"I gotta head to town and take care of some business at the jail," Teaspoon said finally. "Why don't you come along and we can catch up on old times?"

"I'd love to, Teaspoon," Jake answered enthusiastically. "But first, I've got some chores of my own to do. Gotta stop by the general store and the livery. . .but let's say I'll meet you at the jail in a couple of hours. How's that?"

"Sounds just fine to me, son." Teaspoon stood, and Jake followed suit. Then, together, they headed outside.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 Chapter 6

"Whoa!" Buck pulled back on the reigns and slowed his horse to a walk. It was only mid-morning, and already the sun was glaring down on the earth with a harsh eye. The mare tossed her head in weary agitation, trying to shake off the heat, but she soon settled down into complacency.

Buck reached out and stroked her neck affectionately. Somehow she knew, as he did, that it was useless to fight against the powers of nature—no matter how uncomfortable the circumstances became.

"You need some water, girl?" he asked aloud. She snorted. "Yeah, I thought so." He smiled to himself, amazed at how delighted he was to be making conversation with a horse. Though, compared to the company he'd kept the night before, the brown mare was a welcome relief. At least she didn't stare at him—pleading for help. Or worse—torture him with looks of devastation and disbelief.

Almost against his will, the shadowed canyon materialized in his imagination. Suddenly, he felt Hickock's bitter gaze rip through him once more; his soul calling out to Buck as if from between clenched teeth. _Where were you? _Jimmy demanded. _Why didn't you help us?_

Buck considered the endless eyes of his ancestors. So many of them—crying out for his assistance. So many others—turning away in disgust. Even Ike didn't have total faith in him.

He broke out into a cold sweat as his heart lurched forward. How was he supposed to help Teaspoon when even the spirits didn't trust him? What kind of tortured quest was this? And why was _he_ the one called on such a hopeless journey?

As the questions tumbled through his head, Buck began to feel the nausea boil up in his stomach. He knew he had to get back to Rock Creek. He needed to see Teaspoon—to learn if he was dead or alive.

But a stronger emotion pulled him away from his intended destination. He had to visit Rattlesnake Canyon first. The spirits, however reluctantly, had called him there in his dream. Perhaps he could glean a better understanding of his role if he stood in the place of his vision. Besides, the horse needed watering and the canyon was relatively close by. If he didn't gain any more knowledge, at least he had the comfort of knowing the trip wouldn't be a total waste.

He kicked the mare into a gallop. "Come on, girl."

Suddenly, an eagle's cry pierced through the skies. Buck sought in vain for the illusive bird. Yet, though he could not trace it with his eyes, Buck knew its call.

"Guide me. . ." he whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7Chapter 7

Jake Michaels steadied his horse and looked down into the small valley below him. The old Marcus homestead limped into view—the corroding lean-to as silent as the grave. From his pocket, Michaels produced a small mirror. Instinctively, he glanced around himself before giving the sign. Three flashes of light hit a scrub of bushes near the backside of the house. A moment passed before the signal was returned, and Jake cautiously entered the property. As he approached the dilapidated house, they all began to creep out from the woodwork.

There were eleven men in all—hard as nails and twice as tough. Their battered clothing told a tale of long hard rides and uncountable fisticuffs. One of them, who's shirt was splattered with the dried blood of some unfortunate foe, stepped forward as Jake dismounted. He wore a battered broad brimmed hat that rode low on his head—casting a shadow about his eyes.

Jake glanced around himself once more before eyeing the front man. "What'd you find?" he asked with authority.

"There wasn't nothin' in that mail bag, Jake. An' I'm gonna be the first to talk for the boys when I say it's a damned waste of time lookin' for it."

Jake gritted his teeth and sized up each man in turn. Then he smiled roguishly. "Well boys, I think our luck's about to pick up. Jonesie back in Blue Creek was right. Teaspoon Hunter is the Sheriff of Rock Creek now. And, to top it all off, he's also in charge of the Rock Creek Pony Express station."

The front man's eyes flickered with suspicion. "How the hell is buddying up to a Marshal gonna help us get at that money? I thought we'd planned to keep away from the law."

"Plan's changed, Jarvis. Teaspoon Hunter's our ace in the hole. The man's a sucker for an old friend—always has been. We know that the army's got a shipment headed out to Saint Joe—it's all just a matter of when. The Pony Express is always handlin' the army's business. Now we got an inside line to tell us just where to be when the army decides to use the Express's services again. I can get Hunter to tell me anything." He flashed a self-satisfied grin. "Hell, I can get him to _do_ just about anything I want."

Jarvis remained unconvinced. "Last heist we pulled was more'n three months ago, Jake. It's just takin' too damn long." Several others grumbled in agreement.

Jake sighed. "Ok. You all can go off half-cocked and rob a pitiful little bank. Get yer jollies and about a hundred dollars. Or you can stay with me and rake in a couple thousand in pure U.S. prime army gold. Last shipment we got was peanuts compared to this one. With the war comin', that gold is headed back East faster than ever. You need money to fight a war, boys. An' this is our chance to take ourselves a cut before it's all wasted on uniforms." Jake paused for a moment to let his words do their work. It didn't take long before he could feel the mighty flame of greed flare up and seduce his comrades once more. He continued, "Good things always take a little time to materialize. But, I swear, it'll be well worth the wait. An' I don't think we'll be needing to worry much about getting caught. I know for a fact that Teaspoon and all of Rock Creek think the Kiowa killed that rider—and all the others, too."

Jake smiled broadly to himself as the play perfectly unfolded before his eyes. It was most certainly turning into a thing of beauty. Now it was time for act two to begin.

"I gotta get back to town and see what I can get out of old Teaspoon." Jake glanced up at the edge of the horizon. "I think it's safe for you all to move around a little. Too many men in one place draws suspicion. But be careful. We don't need no stupid stunts ruining our game." His eyes picked over his men. "Jackson, Matthews and McDaniels—you all follow me back to town. But I want you to act like you never seen me before. If trouble stirs, I may need you—so keep close by. The rest of you stay 'round here and lay low. I'll be back tonight about midnight with the low-down. Ok?"

They all nodded in silent acceptance.

Jake mounted his horse and smiled. "It won't be too long now, boys." He savored the moment as a wave of exhilaration flew through his spine—setting his whole being on fire. Nothing was going to stop him now.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 Chapter 8

"There now. You drink up." Buck gave his horse a good stroke as she gratefully lowered her nose to the water—oblivious to everything else around her.

Buck knelt down beside the stream and dipped a hand into its clear coolness. He felt it wash past him, rushing eagerly onward through the canyon. The sun's light sifted through the near-by trees, clothing the stream in a shimmering coat bedecked with liquid jewels. In the dazzling light, Buck watched as his fingers seemed to become one with the movement—melting into the flashing, easy momentum of the stream. Carefully, he lifted his hand to his face and allowed the magical fluid to wash down past his eyes and nose, then over his lips and finally, drop by drop, return, anonymous, to its home among the ripples.

How many times as a child had Running Buck knelt beside this stream? How many times had he longed to dissolve away—drop by drop—and become one with the water as it flowed irresistibly forward? How many times had he longed to run away with it somewhere no one would blame him or hate him or ignore him completely? He'd flow to a place where there was no 'white man'—no 'Indian'—where he would only be liquid and clear—water itself—clothed in the jewels of the sun.

"Is someone there?" The distant sound of a voice jarred Buck suddenly back to the present. He wiped his wet hand on his shirt and stood up slowly. He listened.

"Please. . .who's there?" It sounded like a woman. He grasped the mare's reigns and led the reluctant horse away from the stream and into a clearing.

"Over here!" the voice called out again. This time, he was able to pin-point its source. To the left of him, about fifteen yards away, a woman sat near a large rock at the bottom of the canyon wall. Noticing that she'd finally caught his attention, she called out eagerly, "Please help me. . .I think I may have hurt my ankle."

Buck hesitated. This was just his luck. The woman was white and from what he could tell, not very young. Once she'd got a closer look at him, she'd probably scream. She'd certainly regret getting the attention of a no-good half-breed. But Buck couldn't just walk away from a woman in trouble. He knew what a dangerous place the canyon could be—especially when there was Indian trouble. He tugged at the horse's reigns and cautiously approached.

As he neared, the woman's features became more readable. She appeared to be in her mid-forties or early fifties, dressed in a high-collared white ruffle blouse and a royal blue skirt cinched in at the waist. To Buck, it seemed very stylish clothing for such an old woman, but she appeared to carry it off. Her lightly disheveled hair was whisped up in what was once a fine array of dark brown locks going a bit gray at the temples. A gold locket hung about her neck—reflecting the sunlight whenever she moved. It looked like a pretty expensive piece of jewelry. _Someone should have told her to leave it at home,_ Buck thought. _That kind of gold hanging of a defenseless lady could call out thieves from as far away as Blue Creek._

"Thank you." She smiled at him, as he stopped before her, with a look of relief that sent Buck into a slight state of shock. He stood there, awkwardly staring at the obviously un-frightened woman.

The lady's brown eyes suddenly darkened with concern. "Can you speak English?" she asked slowly.

The surprise was evident on his face as Buck sputtered out a "yes". These weren't usually the first words Buck encountered when he met a strange white woman. He was completely caught off guard. Immediately, he struggled to compose himself.

"Are you Ok, ma'am?" he asked as he saw the woman wince in pain and reflexively grip her left ankle.

"I think I may have sprained it." She laughed weakly. "I never knew going out for a walk could be so hazardous to one's health!"

"Were you out walking alone?" He glanced down at her foot. "Do you think you can stand on it? Do you want me to help you?"

"My, you do like to ask questions, don't you?"

Buck's face turned a humiliated shade of red.

"Oh, it's all right. I didn't mean to make you feel awkward. Yes, I was walking

alone. . ." She bit her lip as a wave of pain seared through her ankle.

Buck swallowed. "You mind if I take a look at it? I'm not a doctor or anything, but I might be able to help some." He hesitated, then continued. "I'm gonna have to touch your ankle, though."

"Well, I expect that much!" she answered, trying to smile. "Will it hurt?"

"Probably not much more than it does now."

"That's a comfort," she replied sarcastically.

Buck knelt down and proceeded to untie her bootlaces as gingerly as possible. The ankle was already beginning to swell. "All right, this might hurt some." He tried pulling off the boot, but stopped short as the woman cried out. He looked up into the stranger's face. He expected her to break into tears or at least chastise him for his carelessness, but instead she looked back down at him with a courage and faith that touched him. She knew the boot must be removed and was ready to face the pain involved. But what was more amazing to Buck was how she was willing to trust _him_ with her care. She nodded, then closed her eyes as Buck completed the task. "There, it's done." Buck sighed in relief. He then began examining the ankle. When he tried to rotate it, he felt a click and the woman jumped back in response.

"Looks like you broke it, ma'am," he stated frankly. "I'd better get you back to Rock Creek so the doctor can set it. You think you can lean on me so I can get you on the horse?"

She looked doubtful. "I can try." She wrapped an arm about his neck and tried to stand, but within moments, she begged to be set back down. "It just hurts too much to move."

Buck took a good look around. "I can make up a splint. It'll keep the bone from moving and make the ride back to town easier on you. But it might take me a little while to put it together, ma'am."

"Oh, that's all right," she answered with a weary grin, "I'm not going anywhere fast. But I would appreciate it if you'd quit calling me 'ma'am'. It makes me feel older than I already am!" A spark of humor shone in her eyes. "Besides, I was brought up to believe that when a lady allows a young man to touch her ankle, they had better be properly introduced." She straightened herself up. "My name is Grace Soliel, but you can call me Grace." She extended her hand and Buck accepted it, knowing that's what a gentleman's supposed to do—but not feeling at all comfortable with the gesture.

"So-lay?" Buck pronounced the foreign word aloud, testing it out with some confusion.

Grace laughed. "Soliel. Yes, that's it. It's a French word. It means 'sunlight'."

"That's a beautiful name," Buck ventured. Then he remembered his manners. "I'm Buck. Buck Cross."

"Well, Buck, I thank you for your kind assistance. I don't know how long I might have had to sit here alone if you hadn't heard me calling."

Grace's friendly brown eyes appealed to Buck, and he couldn't help but stare at that strange woman. There was something oddly familiar about her—though Buck had no idea how that could be. All he knew was that he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that comfortable around any woman—young or old. And this very comfort made him uneasy. But, as he looked at her, he was surprised to find his awkwardness begin to melt away and a liberated ease settle down in its place. He grinned to himself. Whoever this woman was, she certainly had good medicine.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 Chapter 9

The old chair creaked in protest as the Marshal eased back with a self-indulgent sigh. Two tired feet, encased in a pair of worn out boots that were cracked and crusted with dirt, found the way to their accustomed spot on the center of the faithful old desk.

Teaspoon closed his eyes and stretched out luxuriously. Though he'd be the last to admit it to any living soul, he appreciated these quiet moments more and more. True, there was a time when he literally itched for action. The need burned through him like a horrible rash that he'd do just about anything to scratch—even if it meant fighting against the law. The sheer heart-pounding exhilaration of walking the fine line between life and death—tempting fate day after day—was meat and drink to him.

But a time finally arrived when just one too many of his friends had dug himself an early grave and what was once the sweet taste of adventure began to turn putrid in his mouth. How many innocent deaths had been caused by his selfish appetite for danger? He tried to recall even a few of the countless faces—but, to his shame, they were all a blur. For years, he hadn't cared who lived or died. And now, when he wished to remember—to make some sort of atonement for his sins—they refused even to haunt his dreams.

He often wondered, as he listened to the jailhouse clock methodically tick away the seconds, just why it was that he'd been allowed by the Almighty to live as long as he had. Each new day of his life seemed more of a miracle than the last. As the years rolled by, he began to think that maybe—just maybe—God was offering him a chance to make restitution. He smiled to himself as he thought of the boys at the Pony Express. He'd certainly taken God up on his offer with them. He knew that his speeches and platitudes tended to rub the wrong way with that hot-blooded bunch. But he also knew that, deep down, they appreciated him—and the life he'd lived. His only hope was that they wouldn't become infected with that terrible lust for danger. It was a plague in the West. And the only cures were a cool head and a belief in responsibility—or a bullet in the back.

"Teaspoon? I swear, you gotta be part bear, hibernatin' the way you do." Jake's friendly voice aroused the Marshal from his musings.

Teaspoon opened his eyes and slowly raised himself to a sitting position. "You finally decide to show up? I been waitin' half the day fer you."

"Well, there's a lot to do when you're getting ready to head out for the great unknown." He took a seat next to his friend. "Hey. You still hide a bottle of rot gut in the top drawer?"

The Marshal flashed a wicked grin. "You got one hell of a memory. An' it ain't rot gut—it's my private reserve—brought out only for the most special of special occasions." Teaspoon searched through his keys for the right one and proceeded to unlock the drawer. He sighed. "I guess you bein' here's good enough reason to celebrate."

Jake laughed. "Teaspoon, with you, havin' to use the outhouse is a reason to celebrate."

"I suppose so," Teaspoon admitted as he poured out the fine Southern whiskey. Then he raised his glass. "Here's to old times and to new. Lets hope we live to see a few!" He gulped down the booze, then eyed his friend thoughtfully. "Why is it that in fifteen years, I ain't seen or heard hide nor hair of you? Then all of a sudden, you come outta nowhere ready to buddy up to this old man?"

Jake glanced down at his drink. "Told you, Teaspoon. I been busy."

"Yeah?" Teaspoon ventured. "Busy with what?"

"I've been the law in about ten different towns over the years. That kept my hands full. Now, I'm ready to move on to new adventures." His eyes glittered with excitement. "Out West, I got the chance to live free and start a fresh life. Livin' off the land's what I've always loved best and I'm ready to get back to it."

"Jake," Teaspoon began as he poured himself another drink, "I ain't got nothin' against yer movin' out West. But did you ever think that it might be kinda dangerous to go out there alone—kinda foolhardy, even?"

"Since when did you ever worry about my well being?" Jake asked in a serious tone that surprised Teaspoon.

"Now how the hell can you say that, son?" Teaspoon replied defensively. "How many times did I save your butt in a fight—even the ones you started? How many laughs did we have sittin' here in the jail drinkin' like we is now? Back in Deadwood, you was like family to me—you _are _family. Don't you remember that?"

Jake remembered. And, for a split second, he allowed himself to feel a twinge of sentiment—and even gratitude. But he closed the door on his heart as quickly as it had been opened. There was no time to get sentimental. He had more important matters to tend to. He looked up at the Marshal, who's eyes were filled with genuine concern. "Yeah," he laughed, "you're right, Teaspoon. You always were—and you still are. I suppose it's easy to forget family when you're apart for so long. More times 'n not, you just spend your day makin' sure you live to see the next one." He took a swig. "Looks to me like you found yourself some new family with the Pony Express."

Teaspoon nodded. "Yep. Those boys are one of the best things that ever happened to this old dog. We're a rag-tag bunch, but I always thought that family was more than just blood relatives. Family is who ya laugh with and cry with—and who you'd be willin' to die for."

"Knowing you, you'd be willin' to do just about anything for one of them, wouldn't you?"

Teaspoon rested his gaze on Michaels. "I'd do the same for you."

Jake glanced down at the floor and gritted his teeth. "Teaspoon, I. . ." he began, but was cut off by the sound of visitors.

"He's in here." Kid's voice could be heard from the street. Teaspoon's attention shifted to the doorway as Kid and Cody, followed closely by an army man, entered the jail. "That's him." Kid pointed toward Teaspoon.

"Are you Marshal Hunter?" the soldier asked with military precision.

"Yeah," Teaspoon replied cautiously. "What is it you need?"

"I have orders from Captain Jacobs to deliver this message to you personally."

"Oh? Lets see it." Teaspoon took the folded paper and broke the seal. He perused the message and then looked up at the soldier. "You can tell Captain Jacobs that we'll take care of it tomorrow—first thing. It's too late to send anyone that far today." He glanced down at a second sheet that had been enclosed with the message, then promptly folded it up and tucked it away in his waistband.

The soldier stood still for a moment, expecting something more. But Teaspoon only stared at him with a slightly exasperated look that told him he was wasting his time. The soldier saluted, then turned and made his exit.

"What was that all about?" Jake asked, trying not to seem too eager, though he felt his heart pound in his ears with the anticipation of what he knew the Marshal was about to say.

"Seems the army outside of Dry Sandy needs the Pony Express to deliver a special message out to Saint Joe about some shipment they got comin' in soon. I'll have to send one of the boys out to deliver it tomorrow."

The jailhouse clock tolled the hour. One o'clock. Teaspoon suddenly remembered Buck. He squinted at Kid and Cody in turn. "You boys seen Buck today?"

They both shook their heads. "Naw, Teaspoon," Cody replied. "He ain't come back yet."

"Well, it's getting just a little too late for him to still be gone. You boys better go after him. An' whether you find him or not, be back before sundown. We don't need any more missin' riders." The two started for the door. _You boys ride safe, _the Marshal added silently.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 Chapter 10

"All right, let's see if this works." Buck had gathered together several thick sticks. Using part of a length of rope he'd brought with him, he had tied them together into two bundles. Now, he positioned one bundle on either side of Grace's leg and proceeded to secure them in place with the rest of the rope. It might not have been the most attractive brace ever made, but it was the best he could do given his limited resources.

As he fumbled with the splint, Buck couldn't help but glance up at Grace's locket. From a distance, it had attracted his interest. A closer look proved that it was an even finer piece of jewelry than he'd first thought. The oval disk glowed warm with an inviting golden hue. At its center sat a brilliant diamond. Several etched lines radiated from it much, Buck thought, like the rays of a sun. As the jeweled image caught the light, it seemed to almost pulsate with a life of its own; the etched rays emitting their own silent power beyond the locket, itself—poised to arrest the attention of even the most casual observer.

Grace noticed Buck's interest. "Do you like it?" she asked, even though it was evident from Buck's awe-struck expression that he did.

Buck lowered his gaze. "I was just thinking that it might be dangerous to wear something precious like that out here. It's not always safe." He tightened the brace. "How's that feel?"

"I think it's helping," Grace admitted, then paused for a moment before she added, "I suppose it isn't wise to wear jewelry so conspicuously out here. But I couldn't imagine going anywhere without my boys."

"Your what?"

Grace glowed with pride as she opened up the locket and motioned for Buck to sit beside her. Inside, he saw two small photos. She pointed to the one on the left. "That's my son, William. And the one on the right is my other boy, Issac."

Buck took a good look at the pictures. They were handsome men. Both were dressed in smart suits—their dark eyes trained intensely on the camera. Buck noticed that William looked quite a bit older than Issac. For some reason, William reminded Buck of his own

brother, Red Bear, though the two looked nothing alike.

"Do they live near here?" Buck asked.

"No," Grace replied—a little sadly. Buck noticed how the small lines around her mouth and eyes dug deep as she spoke. "They've each gone their own way. I haven't seen either of them in years. William headed off to California and I think Issac was somewhere in Texas last I heard. Once in a while, I get a message through the post. . .but not often." She closed the locket. "They don't have much time for writing, I imagine."

"That don't seem right," Buck said.

"Right or wrong, it's the truth—and it's something I've learned to live with. Even so, I'll always love them." She brightened a little. "It's not as if I'm all alone in this world. When my husband died a few years ago, my sister and her family took me in, and I enjoy their company." She eyed Buck inquisitively. "Do you have any family, Buck?"

Buck thought a moment—his eyes searching somewhere beyond the horizon. He felt for Ike's bandanna as a wave of loneliness washed over his soul. Images streaked through his imagination like shooting stars. He saw Ike's comforting smile and wide eyes, Teaspoon's wise, understanding countenance, Red Bear's strong physique and proud face, his mother's deep, loving gaze. . .

"No, not really," he responded without emotion. He stood suddenly. "We'd better get you back to town. It's not safe for us to be out here alone. There's been Indian trouble lately."

"You're an Indian, aren't you?" Grace asked cautiously.

"I'm half Kiowa," he answered quietly.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of," Grace stated, to Buck's surprise.

"I'm not ashamed of my heritage," he shot out defensively. Suddenly, a wave of suspicion rolled through his body like a thunder cloud. "Why are you so willing to accept me?"

Grace's heart filled with concern. For a moment, she studied the young man. She sensed his conflict. She knew that he was torn between love and hate not only for her but for

countless other people—for life, itself.

"It must be hard for you," she said finally, "living in between worlds, as you do."

Her understanding frightened Buck. Who was this woman?

She saw the fear and suspicion gather strength in his eyes. "Buck, I want to give you some words of wisdom that the years have given me." She lifted her head—allowing the warm afternoon sun to penetrate her being. "I've always felt that nature speaks to us individually—calling our names—telling us what we need to know about life. I've gained a bit of wisdom from my morning walks that might help you." She paused a moment before she continued. "Have you ever noticed how the sun rises everyday—on good days as well as bad? It has the ability to climb beyond all of our pain and adversity. Its light is what keeps us alive. It gives us strength and hope to face each new day." Buck hesitated slightly before nodding in agreement. Grace went on. "The sun sheds a light of truth on all things. Who can hide from it? I suppose people can _try _to run and hide, but the truth is always exposed eventually. Buck, if you allow the light to guide you and accept its truth, you'll begin to understand it and know just who can stand proudly in the light and who can't." She smiled. A faithful glimmer shone in her eyes. "I could tell that you were a good man from the moment I met you."

A deep silence fell on the two as Buck tasted her words. He sensed, rather than knew, the truths she had spoken. Yet, he still wasn't quite sure what to make of it all. He closed his eyes as a soft breeze descended into the canyon, enveloping him with its sweet perfume. This was no ordinary woman sitting before him.

The clamor of galloping horses broke through the stillness. Buck's eyes flew open. "Stay here," he whispered. "And be as quiet as you can." He reached for his gun. "I'll check it out."

Silently, Buck crept through the canyon—making sure to stay close to the wall. The sound of horse hooves beat ever closer as Buck crouched behind a large rock. He didn't know how many men he was about to face, but at least he'd have the element of surprise on his side.

"That looks like his horse," a familiar voice echoed through the canyon. It was Cody's loud, undeniable drawl.

A sigh of relief shook through his frame as Buck emerged from behind the rock to find Kid and Cody appear before him.

"Buck?" Kid inquired with relieved grin.

"What are you doing here?" Buck asked.

"Shouldn't we be askin' you that question?" Cody teased.

"Teaspoon sent us out to hunt for you," Kid explained. "We were headed out to South Pass, but decided to take a short cut through the canyon. Good thing we did, too. What are you doin' out here anyway?"

Buck suddenly remembered Grace. "I met a woman. She hurt her ankle and I was about to take her back to Rock Creek." He turned to find her, but was met with empty space. He ran to the rock where she'd been sitting. He found the make-shift splint leaning up against it. But Grace was nowhere to be found. He shot a look at Kid and Cody, who had followed right behind him. "Didn't you see her? She was right here!"

Kid faced Buck with genuine concern. "All we saw was your horse—and then you." He placed his hand on Buck's shoulder. "You look like you had a pretty rough night. You sleep at all?"

Buck shook free of Kid's hold. "I'm fine," he answered coldly. A sudden rush of anxiety choked him. _Where did she go?_ he thought desperately. _She couldn't have just disappeared. . ."_

Cody sighed impatiently. "We best be headin' back to Rock Creek. Teaspoon wanted us in town before dark and it's already getting late."

Buck stared at the splint resting silently before him. Confusion tossed through his head. He began to wonder if it was all some sort of dream. Had this Grace Soliel even existed?

"Come on, Buck. Lets go," Kid said softly.

Buck ground his heels stubbornly in the dirt as Kid and Cody mounted up. He needed to find Grace. Once more, his eyes shot through the canyon only to find nothing. The woman had simply vanished.

"Buck," Kid called again, "there's no one here. You probably just need something to eat. It's easy to believe anything on an empty stomach."

Buck's heart dropped as he realized what a fool he must seem to his friends. He knew now that it was futile to do anything but follow them back to Rock Creek. Reluctantly, he lifted himself onto his horse and silently, the three headed back to town.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 Chapter 11

The jailhouse clock ticked monotonously. A fly droned somewhere out of sight. With each second that passed, the noose tied around the Marshal's patience slipped tighter and tighter. Finally, he could endure it no longer. "You just gonna sit there waitin' to die or are ya gonna make a move?" Teaspoon shuffled his cards, then fanned them out impatiently.

"Hold your horses, Teaspoon," Jake answered calmly. "Great minds need time to strategize." His eyes wandered down to the all important note stashed away in Teaspoon's waistband. His hands started to sweat as he considered how close he was to victory. That unassuming slip of paper was his key to ultimate power. It was worth at least three thousand dollars in pure gold—gold that would assure Jake Michaels of all the fun he could possibly handle for the rest of his life. His imagination began to run wild as he thought of the endless parties—the high class hooch and the low class women—the many desperate men willing to do his bidding just for the chance to rub elbows with such wealth. His heart raced as he considered how many luckless people would try in vain to rob him of his gold and attempt to kill him for a chance at it. He could almost feel the bullets flying past him as he outran every one of them. No one could stop Jake Michaels—though he was willing to give a few suckers the chance to think they could. A shallow smile began to form about his mouth. This shipment was really just the tip of the iceberg. With his scheme, he could make tens of thousands of dollars and no one would be the wiser. Thanks to the Kiowa, he had a fool-proof scapegoat. He felt the laugher rise into his chest as he smothered his smile. He gritted his teeth as reality shook him by the shoulder. He had to keep focused. He still needed that note to tell him when and where to be to collect that shipment headed for Saint Joe.

"You strategizin' for a war, Jake?" The sound of Teaspoon's voice forced Michaels back to the present and he laid down two cards.

"Those'll be the two biggest mistakes you ever made, Michaels," Teaspoon stated as a sly smile twisted over his lips. "I'm gonna beat you yet."

Jake grinned in feigned amusement, then raised his eyes past the Marshal to the open door. He noticed three men loitering in the street nearby. One, a man with a bushy moustache, caught his gaze and Jake casually ran a finger across his jaw line. The man in the street reached up and touched the brim of his hat, then walked behind the jail and out of sight. Jake turned his attention back to the Marshal who was absorbed in his cards.

"Well, whatcha got Teaspoon?" Jake asked abruptly.

Teaspoon sighed in satisfaction as he slowly spread his cards on the table. "Read 'em and weep, my friend. Three fine ladies came to call."

"That beats me out." Jake tossed his pair of tens and garbage on top of Teaspoon's winning hand—then he stood up.

"Where are you goin'?" Teaspoon demanded. "I got a winnin' streak, here!"

"I know. I know. It's a good thing we ain't playing for money or you'd have wiped me out hours ago." Jake reached for his hat. "I just need to go for a little walk—call of nature. I won't be long."

Before Teaspoon had a chance to rebut, Michaels was out the door. Teaspoon always had a good eye for trouble and he could sense that something more than nature was calling Jake. Exactly what it was, he couldn't quite guess. But he had to admit, in the pit of his heart, he really didn't want to know.

Teaspoon gathered up the deck of cards and began shuffling them absent-mindedly. Jake had always been a little too adventurous for his own good. But he'd also been one of Teaspoon's good friends back in Deadwood. Jake was his only loyal deputy in that wild hell hole. He was a good man in a fight. The Marshal remembered the many times he was spared a bullet in the back due to Michaels' quick draw. He owed the man his life. Yet, he couldn't shake off a certain feeling of uneasiness that had spread over him ever since Jake came into town—literally out of nowhere. He'd changed somehow. He was as fun-loving as ever, but he seemed strangely pre-occupied; his mind wandering to places Teaspoon was not allowed to enter.

The Marshal shrugged off a sigh as he set down the deck of cards. It was easy enough to understand what had happened to his old friend. It had, of course, been fifteen years since they parted ways. No doubt, Jake had spent those years living by the seat of his pants in untamed, lawless towns with one hand glued to his gun. He'd probably been forced to kill more enemies than he cared to admit. Teaspoon knew from experience how that kind of life could wear on even the most easy-going conscience. Thinking it over, the Marshal was amazed at just how un-touched Jake Michaels appeared—given those circumstances.

The sound of footsteps outside the jail quickly aroused the Marshal from his contemplation.

"Teaspoon, you'll never guess who we ran into!" Cody's amicable voice rang through the jailhouse.

"Well, I was beginnin' to wonder what happened to you." Teaspoon rose to greet Buck.

"Found him in Rattlesnake Canyon," Kid said.

"What in hell was you doin' there, son—takin' a holiday?" He sized up the dirty, bedraggled rider. "It's sure done wonders fer yer looks, I'll give you that."

Buck couldn't help but smile at the sight of the old law man—still breathing and as able as ever to pass out sarcasm as easily as a counterfeit dollar.

"I got sidetracked on the way back to town," Buck explained simply.

"Yeah," Cody grinned. "He was tryin' to rescue an imaginary woman."

Buck clenched his teeth as a surge of irritation silently shook through him. His body burned with a dangerous mix of anger and bitter humiliation. It was time to wipe that goofy grin off of William F. Cody's sassy face.

Cody's comment had piqued Teaspoon's interest and he wanted to inquire further into the matter, but noticing Buck's mood, he realized he'd rather keep both the jailhouse and Cody in one piece and wisely decided not to pursue it. Instead, he shot a warning glance at Cody, who stood by the door trying desperately not to laugh. Then he turned to Buck.  
"You find any helpful information at South Pass?"

"No, not really."

"You think it was the Kiowa that killed McMasters?" Kid asked solemnly.

Buck dreaded that question. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to answer it. His heart told him that the Kiowa couldn't have killed that rider. But his common sense thought differently. "I don't. . ."

"Hey, Teaspoon! I didn't know you was havin' a party in here!" Jake Michaels' voice broke through the conversation. Buck, who's back had been to the door, turned to face the visitor as both Cody and Kid welcomed him in.

"This your wanderer?" Jake asked, smiling right into Buck's eyes.

Buck stood there, dumbstruck. He felt as if he were being slowly swallowed into a dream. He noticed, with a quickening interest, that Michaels' eyes were green. He knew those eyes. . .

"Yeah," the Marshal responded, "that's him. Buck, I want you to meet my old friend from Kansas, Mr. Jake Michaels."

Michaels stretched out a hand, but Buck hardly noticed. Teaspoon's voice sounded far away—dissolving into the thumping rush of blood that flooded his ears. His eyes instinctively fell to Jake's necklace. The golden-red jewel shone like the sun—beckoning Buck's memory to awaken. Against his will, a vision shot out from the recesses of his mind and he saw her face shining before him. It was the face of Rising Dawn—his mother. Suddenly, he remembered Grace Soliel's words:_"Allow the light to guide you. . . accept its truth. . .you will know who can stand proudly in the light and who can't."_

Michaels lowered his hand as the smile retreated from his lips. He hadn't know that this Buck was a half-breed. A tremor of fear passed through him. There was something about that boy's eyes. . .

An awkward silence hung heavy in the jailhouse. Teaspoon wondered with some embarrassment what had happened to Buck's manners. "Well, Buck? You got anything to say?" he coaxed.

"Where'd you get that necklace?" Buck asked without emotion.

Jake tried to smile nonchalantly, but Buck's black eyes penetrated him to his depths. "Traded with the Sioux for it," he answered simply.

"You're a liar," Buck stated coldly. "And a bastard."

The only sound that could be heard was the incessant ticking of the clock as Buck pushed past Michaels and left without another word.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12Chapter 12

Teaspoon felt his jaw drop. Never in his life had he seen Buck act so rudely—especially in front of one of his good friends. He glanced at the others. Cody's smile had vanished. Kid's eyes were wide with shock. Jake's face was as white as a sheet. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

For a moment, silence reigned. The Marshal soon realized that it was up to him to set things straight. He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. "I'm sure he didn't mean nothin', Jake. Buck's been actin' kinda strange lately. . .just lost his best friend not long ago." Teaspoon eyed the remaining riders. "You boys better head back to the station. I know you still got chores to do."

Cody looked over at Kid, who nodded, and the two silently departed.

Teaspoon squinted out at the street. "This Indian trouble's been hard on the boy," he explained. "Seems every time anyone around here suspects it's Indians, Buck gets blamed. 'Course it's worse this time. It's probably his own tribe that's done it."

"That's done what?" Michaels asked cautiously.

"A few Pony Express riders been killed lately," Teaspoon admitted. "Looks like the Kiowa done it."

Michaels' blood ran cold. "You sayin' he's part Kiowa?"

Teaspoon nodded. "Yeah. His half-brother is one of the war chiefs. Red Bear, I think

his name is."

Michaels couldn't believe his ears. Red Bear. . .he hadn't heard that name in over fifteen years. Buck? _No. No!_ he thought. _It can't be. . .Running Buck. . . alive?_ His heart raced in panic. His throat was parched with fear. God. This was all he needed. He looked up at the Marshal whose face was contorted in bewilderment. _Ok, Michaels,_ Jake said to himself, _get a grip on yourself. You've got to stay focused!_

Teaspoon approached Michaels, then pulled out a chair. "Sit down, son. Looks to me like you need a drink."

Michaels took a seat and tried to smile as his friend poured the whiskey. "Sorry, Teaspoon. I guess I just ain't used to bein' called a bastard."

Teaspoon gritted his teeth in shame. "I'm gonna go talk to that boy. He owes you an apology and I'm gonna make sure he gives you one. You just wait right here while I go get him."

Jake reached for the glass as the sound of Teaspoon's footsteps faded out into the street. He felt the fire water scorch him to his bones as Buck's black eyes pierced into his soul once again. Buck knew who he was. He knew! Something had to be done about him—before it was too late.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 Chapter 13

Buck stormed out of the jailhouse and into the street. He had to go away—far away—somewhere thought couldn't find him—where memory would forget his name.

His hands shook as he anxiously ran his fingers through his hair. _No. It's not him!_ he told himself. The words echoed in his mind like a haunting chant. His legs began to falter. He was able to stumble behind the jail before they gave out completely and he slid to the ground. He drew his legs to his chest. His head fell to his knees.

Finally, his mind grew quiet—dark and blank. As the welcome silence settled upon him, Buck felt the warmth of a soft new breeze brush past his face. Calmly, persistently, it called to him. Its soothing whisper possessed the key to unlock a door that Buck, for half his life, had desperately tried to forget existed. He begged to be left alone, but as the breeze washed over his trembling spirit, he knew he was powerless to fight it.

Slowly, the door opened. . .and the painful light of memory flooded his entire being.

"Running Buck? Where are you?"

The boy crouched tighter behind Chief White Horse's tipi as he heard his mother's voice draw near and then pass away as she sought in vain for her son.

Running Buck lay on the ground. Silently, he lifted a flap of the tipi. Through the small crack, he could see the great warriors gathered for a conference. He longed to be one of them. A flash of jealousy seared through him as he saw his brother Red Bear sitting among them. He thought bitterly of how his brother was allowed such an honor while he must stay outside with the women and children. Running Buck wasn't a child. He had lived through eight summers and was certainly ready to become a great warrior. He was sure he had much stronger medicine than Red Bear. People would sing songs about Running Buck!

As he listened to the voices drifting from the tipi, Running Buck discovered, to his disappointment, that war was not the topic of conversation.

"Today, the white men come to speak peace," Chief White Horse announced after the pipe had been passed full circle. "This is good."

Several warriors mumbled their disagreement. Then Strength of Blue Ponies raised his voice. "I respect Chief White Horse. He is a wise and powerful leader. Yet, I do not believe that the white men can want peace. They speak with two tongues. They are a dirty and rude people and they posses bad medicine—they drive the buffalo away."

Wolf Lying Down nodded in agreement. "The white men have no respect for our lands. We fight bravely for our hunting grounds only to have them desecrated by white settlers."

Kills With A Gun stood up. "I understand your grievances and your reservations about the white men. Yes, some of them are disrespectful—but not all. You know well that before I became Kills With A Gun, I was a white man called 'Jake Michaels', and yet

you accepted me."

The others pondered this. It was true. Kills With A Gun had proven himself, even as a white man, to be a strong and fearless warrior as well as a great hunter.

"You must believe me," he continued, "when I say that the white men can be a great ally to the Kiowa. They have many guns that can make one warrior seem like two. They can help us to protect our lands against invading tribes." Kills With A Gun sat down. Running Buck smiled with pride to think of how powerful his father's words were among the warriors.

White Horse gathered all of his men's comments into his heart. He looked at each one of them in turn before he began. "You all speak with wise tongues. I am honored to have such warriors." He paused for a moment. "Our last meeting with the white men was promising. Kills With A Gun has been an invaluable mediator for us. I believe what he says is true. It is better to make peace with the whites. Wolf Lying Down, Big Bow and Red Bear will go with Kills With A Gun to greet the white men again today. When you bring them to the village, I will speak with them. That is all I have to say."

With that, the meeting ended. Running Buck scrambled to his feet as the men exited the tipi.

"Father!" he called in English as Kills With A Gun walked out. The white man smiled weakly at his son. "Let me go be great warrior!" Running Buck begged.

"There you are!" Rising Dawn cried out in Kiowa from a few yards away. "Where have you been, Running Buck?" The boy turned toward her as she hurried over. He shrugged. He knew he was in trouble for ignoring her earlier.

Kills With A Gun placed a firm hand on Running Buck's shoulder. "He wants to be a warrior," he explained to his wife.

Rising Dawn smiled. "Oh, is that so?"

Running Buck noticed that the warriors were preparing to make their visit. Red Bear looked very heroic atop his horse—though Running Buck knew _he'd_ look even more powerful if he were able to go.

Kills With A Gun knelt down and looked closely at his son. Running Buck wished his eyes were green like his father's. "Running Buck, you must stay here. We need brave warriors to protect the women and children."

Rising Dawn stepped up behind her husband and stroked his shoulders. Kills With A Gun rose and turned toward her. His face was solemn. Running Buck believed his father was gathering together all of his courage to meet the white men.

"My husband, take this with you." Rising Dawn untied her necklace and secured it around his neck. "It has great medicine. It will protect you."

Running Buck admired the glowing golden stone as it shone in the sun. The intricate beadwork held the jewel in place with loving hands.

Rising Dawn reached up to touch her husband's face, but he turned suddenly away. "I must go now," he said.

Running Buck saw how his father mounted his horse and sat tall with pride. The four warriors then headed out to meet the white settlers who were waiting for them near a grove of trees not far from the village.

Wolf Lying Down and Kills With A Gun approached the white men. There were about a dozen whites, all together. Running Buck, who'd escaped from his mother once more, hid behind one of the nearby trees and watched with rapt interest as the men began to speak.

"Tell them we are honored that they have come to meet us today," Wolf Lying Down said.

Kills With A Gun nodded toward one of the white men—a shaggy, long-haired fellow with a thick jaw. "They don't suspect a thing," he said in English.

"Good," the white man replied. "It's about time we finish them off."

Kills With A Gun turned to Wolf Lying Down. "He says he is hopeful that we will come to a good peace today," he explained in Kiowa.

What was happening? Running Buck knew some English, and though his grasp of the language was limited, he understood enough to realize that his father was not translating properly.

Wolf Lying Down spoke again. "Tell them that our Chief wishes to speak with them. We will lead them back to the village now."

"How much do I get for this job?" Kills With A Gun asked flatly.

"Fifty dollars for leadin' us to 'em," the shaggy man answered. "Just meet us in Deadwood after it's all over and you'll get your money."

Kills With A Gun eyed Wolf Lying Down. "He says they are ready, and they thank you for meeting them." His mouth twisted up into a wicked grin. "He also says he hopes that the spirits are with you today—for your sake."

Wolf Lying Down searched his white friend's eyes in confusion. Suddenly, the man with the thick jaw drew his gun.

Running Buck stumbled back in panic. The gunshot ripped through the skies as Wolf Lying Down fell to the ground. Red Bear and Big Bow struggled for their arrows, but they were no match against a dozen white men with guns blazing. The two retreated back to the village—the intruders hot on their tails.

Running Buck stared, dumbstruck, at his father. Why wasn't he fighting the white men? Why didn't he defend his people? The whites rushed past Kills With A Gun and down into the village. Running Buck could hear women and children screaming. Each gunshot pierced his own heart again and again as he saw his father gallop away without looking back.

A sudden realization shook him. Rising Dawn! He needed to protect her. Running Buck found his legs and raced back to the village. He felt the bullets fly past him as he entered the camp. The white men had caught them all completely off guard. No one was prepared to fight. Kills With A Gun was the only warrior who had a rifle.

"Mother!" Running Buck cried as he spotted the woman frantically calling his name.

"EEAH!" Her blood-curdling scream sliced through his ears. He saw the blood gush from her mouth as the bullet penetrated her back. Running Buck froze as Rising Dawn crumpled to the ground only a few feet before him. He heard the white men laughing. He felt the black smoke from the burning tipis choke his throat. His mind had only one thought. He had to live. He must avenge his mother's murder.

Running Buck fell to the ground near two other young boys who had been shot. He lay perfectly still. Even when he began to taste the blood of his playmates as it pooled up around him, he did not move. He heard the war cries of the Kiowa men mingled with the wailing of children and the moans of the dying.

For many minutes, Running Buck waited. Slowly, silence crept into the village. Drenched in blood, Running Buck began to shiver against his will. He heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Why couldn't he stop shaking? Then he heard Red Bear's voice.

"Wake up, my brother. It is over now."

He felt a hand grip his shoulder.

Buck gasped as his head flew back. The afternoon sun pierced his eyes. For a moment, he sat blinded with confusion. Then he saw Teaspoon standing before him.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 Chapter 14

The Marshal strode down the main street, his old heart rattling in frustration. As he searched through the town, his mind began laying the foundation of a great lecture against speaking rudely to special guests. _That boy is gonna listen to each and every word I say, repeat it all back to me verbatim, wash his mouth out with soap and HUMBLY apologize for his attitude,_ he thought hotly. Though he loved every one of his riders, he firmly believed that there was no excuse for bad manners.

He rounded the corner behind the blacksmith's sure of his mission. He might not always be able to keep his boys out of mischief, but he had the ability to make sure they knew when they'd done something wrong and force them to take responsibility for their actions. Under his wise guidance, those boys were becoming men.

Then he saw Buck. He sat with his knees to his chest, his head in his hands. Pity caught the Marshal firmly by the throat as he considered how small and child-like Buck looked sitting there alone. Word by word, his great speech broke apart and disappeared into the breeze.

As he approached Buck, he noticed, for the first time, just how thin he'd become since Ike's death. He saw how Buck's grimy hands twitched as he grasped at his filthy hair. What Buck really needed wasn't a lecture but a hot bath and a good meal.

Teaspoon placed a hand on his shoulder. Buck's head flew back—his eyes wide with surprise. At first, he didn't seem to know where he was. But, as he found his breath, Buck squinted up at the Marshal and revealed the shadow of a smile.

"You all right?" Teaspoon asked.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Just didn't get much sleep last night."

Teaspoon nodded. Though he'd decided against the lecture, he still felt an apology was in order. "You mind tellin' me just what possessed you to make fools of the both of us in front of Jake?"

Buck's gaze fell to the ground.

"Jake Michaels is a good friend of mine and I don't take kindly to it when my good friends are insulted," Teaspoon explained firmly.

Buck gritted his teeth as Rattlesnake Canyon appeared in his imagination. He saw Teaspoon on his knees. . .that shadowed figure cocking his gun—aiming with pitiless accuracy for the Marshal's head. . .

"You listenin' to me, son?" Teaspoon inquired.

Buck's nerves, already taut as fiddle strings, finally snapped. He rose to his feet and stared the Marshal straight in the eye. "I'm not your son," he stated coldly. "And there's no way in hell you're gonna get me to apologize to that son of a bitch."

Teaspoon couldn't believe his ears. He felt as if he'd been whacked in the stomach. He felt sure that Buck's grief over Ike had completely robbed him of his common sense.

However, the Marshal wasn't going to let him get away with that kind of talk. He felt the frustration mound up in his gut. He was prepared to drag Buck's stubborn butt back inside the jail by force if he had to. He drew a deep breath, struggling for some composure. But he was startled by a tiny voice that came from some far off corner of his mind. _Maybe Buck has a legitimate reason for his anger,_ the voice whispered. For a split second, he considered it. But he soon swatted the idea away before it had any chance to settle on his conscience. _Jake couldn't have done anything to hurt Buck,_ he reasoned. _Jake's a good, honest man._

Buck's heart pounded in his ears. No matter how hard he tried to force it away, the vision of the canyon refused to leave him alone. He couldn't understand why it continued to invade his thoughts. Nothing had happened to Teaspoon. Buck had come back from the canyon to find the Marshal alive and well. Maybe that "vision" was just a bad dream. Kid was probably right. You could believe anything on an empty stomach—including vanishing women and crazy dreams. The thought reassured him somewhat. But just as his mind began to relax, his body went numb. Hickock's pale face materialized before him. His eyes penetrated Buck to his depths. _Why didn't you help us?_ they cried.

How _could_ he help them? He could tell by the glint in his eye, that Teaspoon was in no mood for fantastic tales. And he wasn't about to tell the law man just who Michaels really was in relation to himself. Michaels would just deny it—and considering the way Teaspoon was looking at him now, Buck was pretty sure that Teaspoon would choose his friend's truth over his own. Besides, he'd already told everyone that his mother had been raped. Why should anyone believe the truth? But Buck had to warn Teaspoon about Michaels somehow—in a way the Marshal might believe.

"Teaspoon," Buck swallowed hard, "Jake Michaels is an enemy to the Kiowa."

Teaspoon betrayed a look of concern. "How's that?"

Buck paused a moment to shape his words before he began. "Some time ago, after I'd left the Kiowa, my tribe was betrayed by a white fur trader called Jake Michaels. He led them into a trap. He'd acted as a friend and interpreter for them and when he'd gained their acceptance, he led whites to the village where the women and children were massacred."

A tremor of apprehension shook down Teaspoon's spine. He knew that Buck wouldn't lie about such an atrocity—done to his own people. Yet, he refused to believe that his good friend was capable of such an act. "Jake's never been anywhere near the Kiowa. He mostly traded with the Sioux," he answered firmly. " 'Sides, there must be a thousand 'Jake Michaels' out here tradin' with the Indians. It couldn't have been him."

"My brother told me what happened. He gave me a description of the man," Buck replied without hesitation, "so that no more Kiowa would be tricked into death by him."

"Well, I don't see no proof that this is the same man. You ain't never seen him, and descriptions only go so far, Buck."

"How many times has he lied to you, Teaspoon?" Buck asked suddenly, his voice rising with emotion. "He told you that necklace was Sioux. It's not. It's Kiowa. Any trader who knew the tribes he traded with would know that much."

Teaspoon knew that Buck thoroughly believed that Jake was this Kiowa enemy—and a part of him felt sorry enough for Buck to want to believe it, too. But, as he recalled the many times Jake had saved his life back in Deadwood, he felt sure he owed it to Jake to at least stand up for his honor. Buck was in mourning, that was all. "Buck, I understand that you're tired and hungry, and I know you got reasons to be angry. Ike's death hit us all pretty hard. . ."

"This isn't about Ike!" Buck interjected vehemently. "It's about a man who murdered innocent women and children. A man who's never paid for his crime!"

"A man that ain't Michaels," Teaspoon finished from between clenched teeth. "Now it's time fer you to say yer sorry."

"Never."

"Is that all you got to say?" Teaspoon asked as Buck looked away. "Then I suggest you leave," Teaspoon said without emotion. "Looks to me like you need some time to cool off before you come to yer senses."

Buck glanced up at the sky. The sun flared above them, hot and heavy. Soon, it would be evening. He felt a weak breeze waft past his face. He now knew that Jake Michaels had conned his way right to the center of Teaspoon's heart—just as he'd done to the Kiowa years before—blinding the Marshal to the truth about his evil nature. It was a truth Buck hardly wanted to believe, himself.

"Don't bother looking for me tonight," Buck stated firmly. He turned away from Teaspoon and began to head back to the center of town. He had to find his horse and get out of Rock Creek. An old longing tugged at his heart. He needed to see his brother, Red Bear.

"I won't," Teaspoon answered flatly. For the first time since he'd met him, Teaspoon was glad to see Buck go.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 Chapter 15

"_Don't bother looking for me tonight."_

"_I wont."_

Jake's breath froze in his throat as he heard Buck's footsteps fade away around the opposite side of the jail and out into the street. He took a step back and leaned up against the jailhouse wall, his blood pulsing thickly through his veins. It was a good thing he'd followed Teaspoon out here. That little 'heart to heart' he just heard had almost ruined his entire plan. Lucky for him, Teaspoon possessed an almost ridiculous sense of loyalty to him and that Buck was too much of a coward to reveal his past. Even so, Jake knew that he couldn't rely on luck for long. Sooner or later, that boy would come back and spill it all out. Jake gritted his teeth impatiently. He had no time for the inevitable trouble that a family reunion would bring him. He was too close to success to loose it all now.

Hearing the Marshal emit a weary sigh, Jake made a hasty retreat toward the front of the jail. A few paces before him stood Buck, thankfully with his back turned, untying his horse. Jake immediately headed off in the opposite direction—just in time to miss Teaspoon turn the corner and enter the jailhouse.

Quickly, Michaels scanned the main street. Three men standing out by the livery caught his gaze. Once again, the man with the bushy moustache touched the brim of his hat. Jake nodded his acknowledgement, then headed toward the group. He knew exactly what

had to be done and wasted no time in conveying this to his comrades.

"You see that Indian over there? I want you to follow him. Make sure he gets outta town. . .and then kill him."

"What for?" the man with the moustache inquired.

"McDaniels, you ain't here to ask questions. Just do what I say—and make sure no one's around when you take care of him." Jake eyed Buck intensely as the young rider spurred his horse on. "That half-breed's what's standin' in the way of us getting our gold." He suddenly noticed Teaspoon emerge from the jail, squinting out at the street in confusion. "Meet me back at the old Marcus homestead at midnight," he finished hurriedly as he casually walked away from the group. He hoped to God Teaspoon was too nearsighted to have seen him.

"Jake!" Teaspoon's voice cut through the bustling noise of the town and hit Jake square in the chest. He stopped cold—unable to move. But he soon regained his composure and turned to the Marshal, who was headed straight for him.

"What'er you doin' out here?" Teaspoon asked.

"Thought I'd take a little walk while you were out tryin' to corral that spirited rider of yours." He smiled good-naturedly at the Marshal's crestfallen expression. "I take it he got away from you."

Teaspoon sighed. He didn't want to talk about it. Instead, he turned his attention toward three men untying their horses over by the saloon. "Who're they?" he asked curiously.

"Who?"

Teaspoon nodded toward the trio as they galloped out of town. "Those boys you was just talkin' to. Seems to me, they're in a mighty big hurry to get outta Rock Creek."

"Them three? Well, I don't really know 'em, Teaspoon. We was just makin' conversation. Seems they're passin' through Rock Creek on their way out West to California. They just stopped into town to check on some supplies."

"Oh, I see," the Marshal answered slowly as he took a good hard look at the man

standing before him. He noticed how the edges of Jake's mouth twitched ever so slightly around his ready smile and how Jake's pale green eyes never quite met his own.

Buck's words echoed uncomfortably in his mind: _"How many times has he lied to you, Teaspoon?_"

I'm sorry about Buck," Teaspoon said finally. "He just ain't ready to admit his wrong-doing, that's all. He'll cool off in a while."

"Don't worry about it. It don't bother me none." Jake slapped the Marshal playfully on the back. "How's about we go to the saloon and I buy you a drink. I owe you a couple."

Teaspoon drew a deep breath. "Naw. Not just yet. It's about time fer supper, an' I got some business to take care of at the express station."

_Business, huh?_Jake thought to himself. _Well, i'ts about damn time._ "Teaspoon," he said aloud, "would it be too much trouble if I indulge in that fine cookin' of Rachel's with you all tonight? I ain't sure when I'm gonna get the chance to taste real food when I leave her, and I'd like to savor every bite I can get!" He laughed. "You know, you could've really dug into me when I made fun of your cookin' today. You know I'm a sorrier cook than you are."

A slight grin passed over the Marshal's lips. "Yeah, I suppose I could've," he answered quietly. "I guess I just ain't as good at humiliatin' folks as you is." Teaspoon eyed Jake carefully, hoping his friend would catch his meaning—but he was cut off by the echoing knell of the express house dinner bell.

Teaspoon turned his gaze away as a strange chill entered into his bones. "Lets go eat," he said.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter16Chapter16

Buck kicked his horse into a gallop. The rush of wind heaved and crashed around him like an endless wave breaking out from an untamed sea. The tumult sent his heart racing—bounding forward with every stride. The rhythmic pulse of the horse's hooves digging into the earth set Buck's entire being on fire. He felt the mare's muscles tense, her sweat seeping through his buckskins, as she struggled for speed.

As the horse pressed onward, he recalled the many times, as a child, he raced Red Bear across the prairie. Like most Kiowa, they were both excellent with horses. Buck smiled as he remembered that even riding bareback and blindfolded, he out-ran Red Bear time and again. It was one of the few achievements he could be proud of during his childhood. Flying past his warrior-brother, kicking up a trail of dust in his wake, Running Buck was able—for the briefest moment—to loosen the chains of shame that had been shackled around his ankles ever since that fateful day when Kills With A Gun betrayed the tribe.

Buck swallowed hard as his mind once again unlocked the memories of that terrible day. He saw the endless expressions of fear, distrust, and down-right hatred that met him as he stumbled in a daze through the camp. Only that morning, he'd received the adulation of his peers for being the fastest runner in the tribe. But life had turned upside-down after the humiliating tragedy. The Kiowa might not have been able to take revenge on the instigator of their betrayal, but they had the ability to punish his son.

For an entire year after the massacre, no one in the tribe spoke to Running Buck—except for his brother—who occasionally broke his vow of silence out of pity for his half-sibling. Yet, even Red Bear rarely ever made eye contact with his brother during this time. Everyone else diverted their gaze away completely. It didn't take long for Running Buck to begin hating the fact that his mouth and nose resembled his father's, that his hair was only a deep, dirty brown—never a thick, raven black, or that his skin could never quite tan deeply enough to disguise his white blood. By ignoring him, the tribe made absolutely sure that he knew he was a constant, physical reminder of one of the most humiliating moments in Kiowa history.

Buck slowed his horse to a walk. As the visions of his childhood washed through his mind, he began to wonder if Red Bear had let him win all of those glorious races. He knew well that Red Bear was the better horseman. Yet, in his heart, he felt that it really didn't matter if the races were thrown. Buck was grateful to his brother for those glimpses of freedom—and for so much else. It was Red Bear who had convinced the tribe to drop their code of silence. Red Bear influenced the elders to give Running Buck the chance to prove himself in the hunt.

Red Bear also played a role in bringing Ike into Buck's life. Buck clearly remembered the day, years ago, when his brother had taken him aside and advised him to leave the Kiowa. Red Bear had explained that it might be beneficial to Running Buck if he learn more about the white men. Perhaps he would be more accepted in their world and could

begin a new life where he would not have to pay for his father's actions.

Running Buck did not want to be associated with white men, who he had grown to know only as killers and liars. He was ready to beg to stay—even if it meant having to eat his meals alone and sleeping with the eyes of the entire village on his back. But he had ultimately decided to do as his brother suggested out of respect. Who knew that there would soon come a day when his strict opinion of white people would be challenged by a skinny, bald and mute boy who was ready to fight tooth and nail for a half-breed? It was a day Buck wouldn't soon forget. That day, he'd finally felt as if he truly belonged somewhere—at the side of his new best friend.

Buck drew in a deep, welcome breath. The fragrance of summer wildflowers, the rich earth, and tender green grasses filled his head and strengthened his spirit. He was not far from his tribe's camp. It lay just beyond Rattlesnake Canyon. Buck squinted up at the sky. If he picked up his pace, he could reach the camp by nightfall.

A sudden chill caught Buck by the throat. It was too quiet. Then he heard them—horses running fast. He stole a look behind himself and discovered three men riding over the horizon—charging straight for him. He decided that he'd rather not wait around to see what they wanted, and spurred his horse. She was still worn out from her last run. Buck noticed frantically that, at this pace, he'd soon be a dead man.

"Time to eat dirt, Injun!" he heard one of the riders scream. Buck kicked the mare again. She must have felt as panicked as he did, because from somewhere, she managed to pick up a little more speed. He felt the hot breath of lead scream past his ears. That was too close. He knew, as the mare struggled for air, that he couldn't out-run the riders. But maybe he could out-smart them. Up ahead, he spied a small clump of trees that marked one of the entrances to Rattlesnake Canyon. If he could manage to lead them into the canyon, he had a good chance of loosing them.

"Come on, girl," he said desperately as he felt the mare slowing. "Just give me a little bit more. . ."

The three riders were right on his tail. Buck could almost feel the horses' fuming breath burning his neck. This was not how he'd planned to die.

Buck focused intensely on the trees ahead of him—the gateway to his only chance for life. Then he saw something that forced his heart into his stomach. It was the figure of a woman gesturing to him. She stood before the group of trees, glowing with an unearthly brightness. Buck's jaw dropped as he realized that he was staring at the figure of none other than Grace Soliel.

There was no time to wonder where she'd come from, how she was able to stand firmly on her broken ankle, or why she glowed with such a celestial light. Buck's only thought as another round of bullets flew past him was to survive—by any means possible.

As he raced toward her, Grace lifted her hand into the air. Buck turned his head impatiently toward his pursuers. They were close enough now that he could see the hardened sneers on their dirty faces—and Grace was motioning him to stop?! His mind told him that it would be suicide to quit running—and yet, as he looked into the woman's calm, brown eyes, he felt his faith begin to rise up and smother all traces of doubt. He pulled back on the reigns and the thankful mare slowed to a halt.

Silently, Grace placed a finger against her lips. Buck froze stiff in the saddle. The ground trembled as the riders raced toward him.

"Where the hell did he go to?" McDaniels cried. Buck's eyes grew wide with wonder. If he wanted to, he could literally reach out and grab McDaniels by the collar. Their horses were standing side by side. And yet, to McDaniels, Buck and his mare were as invisible as the air itself.

"He couldn't have just disappeared!" one of the others stated in exasperation. "Jake's gonna have our hides if we don't kill him."

McDaniels spat in irritation. "It don't matter," he said. "We'll just tell him we took care of it. 'Sides, we ain't got time to be chasin' after stupid Indians until hell freezes over. It's getting dark." He jerked at the reigns. "Let's head outta here."

Buck watched as the three riders spurred their horses on and disappeared over a rise that lay to the west. For a moment, Buck waited, breathless, as he heard the horses' galloping hooves fade off into silence. Then he turned to Grace.

"Who are you?" he managed to ask between gasps as his breath suddenly returned.

The woman smiled. Her body glowed and pulsated like a flowing stream of light. "Find your strength in the rising sun," she said softly. Her words echoed—reverberating through Buck's soul. All he could do was stare at her in petrified amazement. What sort of spirit was this standing before him? For, he knew now that Grace had to be from the spirit world. What did she mean by those words she had uttered?

A familiar confusion began to cloud his mind, when suddenly, an eagle cried out above him. Immediately, Buck sought for it—raising his eyes greedily to the sky. Yet, his heart dropped as, once again, he was met with empty space. He quickly turned back to Grace for some sort of understanding. But Buck would find no answers from the spirit woman—for she had vanished just as mysteriously as she had appeared.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17Chapter 17

"We've got some important business to tend to, boys," Teaspoon announced as Rachel began dishing out pieces of pie. "Seems the army needs our help to deliver a message to General Iverson at Saint Joe." He eyed each rider carefully before he continued. "I ain't gonna deny that it'll be a dangerous run—especially considerin' the Indian trouble we been havin' lately. But I do know that you boys are the best riders this side of anywhere—and I also know you got the courage and ability to see this message safely through to its intended destination."

"Teaspoon," Cody broke in through a mouthful of pie, "why dontcha just get to the part where the lucky rider deliverin' this message gets to fight off bears and Indians and crazy mountain men—oh, yeah—and a good ol' band of army outlaws ready to blow him to kingdom come for that message—only to find out when he finally drags his butt into that general's tent that there weren't nothin' written on that note an' he just risked his neck to play decoy so's the army fella with the _real_ message don't get his blue suit all dirty!" Cody shoveled down another forkful of pie.

Noah burst out laughing. "Cody, I swear, you should win an award for havin' breath hot enough to melt all them words together into one sentence—and be able to stuff your face at the same time, too. Now _that _takes talent!"

"It's true!" Cody interjected indignantly. "It's exactly what happened to me once and no one's ever gonna get me to do it again. I'd rather have to eat Jimmy's porridge for a week than get set up by the army like that."

Jake Michaels, who had been sitting quietly at the Marshal's side, began to sweat with apprehension. Could that be the case with this message? Was it all just a set up?

"Cody," Teaspoon responded confidently, "I don't think we's gonna have that trouble this time. The message was delivered right to me—as you and the Kid well know—and I took the liberty of checkin' it out. There's definitely words written on the note—words one of you boys is gonna deliver to Saint Joe tomorrow morning, first thing. Now, it's time to find out just who that boy is gonna be. Seems only right to do things the democratic way. Any volunteers?"

A heavy silence fell hard upon the Marshal's words. He paused for a moment before he continued. "OK, then, if the democratic way don't work, we'll have to draw straws and let fate decide. Either way, the message has got to get through. I promised the army that much."

"I'll do it," Lou said finally. Every eye in the room trained on her. She was a bit irked to notice how many of those eyes looked doubtful.

"You sure you want to do that, Lou?" Kid asked gently—a little too gently for Lou's ears to handle—especially in front of a guest who thought she was a boy.

Lou straightened herself up—tightening her lips stubbornly. "I'm the fastest rider here—and the lightest. I could make that run quicker than any of you. And I outraced plenty of trouble on my express runs."

"I don't know, Lou," Teaspoon said slowly. "Yer. . .well, a might. . . _young_ to be riskin' yerself like that."

Lou knew very well that it wasn't her age that concerned Teaspoon. "Now that's not fair, Teaspoon. You don't see anyone else standin' up to take the job." She sat back and crossed her arms defiantly. "At least I ain't chicken like your _older _boys are."

"Teaspoon," Jake spoke up, "I got an idea that might just help you out. You all have been havin' some trouble deliverin' your mail, right? What was it, Teaspoon—two riders killed on their runs lately?"

"Three," Teaspoon corrected.

"OK, three. Now, how many of those riders were out all by themselves on their run?"

"All of 'em, Jake," Teaspoon answered wearily. "What are you getting at?"

"Teaspoon, you of all people should know that there's safety in numbers. Maybe if you let Lou deliver the note—you all could follow real close behind him and make sure he gets to Saint Joe safe."

"Well, that's all fine and dandy," Hickock piped up, "but if them Indians decide to attack, then it'll be seven of us with arrows in our backs. How's that gonna help matters?"

"I don't know, Jimmy," Noah spoke up. "Jake might just have an idea there. From the tracks we found when we ran across McMasters, Buck didn't think there was more than five riders who made the ambush. We could take on those odds."

"I could ride out front as point man," Jake added.

"Ridin' point's pretty dangerous, Jake," Teaspoon was quick to state. "I don't know. . ."

"Oh, come on, Teaspoon!" Jake laughed. "Since when have you known me to shy away from danger? 'Sides, it'll save havin' one of your own riders do it." He stared the Marshal in the eye with an earnest gaze that pierced right through the armor of doubt that had begun to build around Teaspoon's heart. "I want to help you," Jake continued, "just one last time before I head out to Oregon Territory. You know it's the least I could do for all the times you've been there for me. Why not—for old time's sake?"

"Well, I ain't got nothin' against it—especially as the mail's on a temporary hold. Maybe we can stop whoever's doin' all this killin' from tryin' it again." Teaspoon turned to the rest of the group. "What do you all say?"

"I say let's do it," Kid pronounced enthusiastically as he snuck a quick glance at Lou. If he couldn't dissuade her from delivering the message, at least he could ride along with five other men and protect her. That was good enough for him.

The others agreed. It sounded like a feasible plan—and it appeared as if they'd out-number anyone who tried to attack.

"All right, then," Teaspoon concluded, "we'll head out for Saint Joe at daybreak, tomorrow. I suggest we all turn in early and get some shut eye. I got a feelin' we're gonna need all our wits about us on this run."

Jake smiled to himself. _You got that right,_ he added silently.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 Chapter 18

Buck pulled back gently on the reigns and took a good look around. The light from the dying sun bled out onto the sky, flowing like a deep red river over the horizon, as the first faint stars of evening began to peek through the growing shadows. Buck felt a fresh coolness rise up and touch his face as the Earth slowly exhaled—welcoming the coming darkness.

He steadied his horse and peered down from the top of the hill into the camp below. Children ran through the village, screaming and laughing as they chased after one another with imaginary bows and arrows. Some women were completing their day's work scraping buffalo hide, while others were preparing the evening meal for their husbands. He recognized several of the warriors in the village, though they took no notice of him. Buck closed his eyes as the smell of sweet smoke rose out of the tipis and up to greet him—inviting him to remember happier times.

"You must stay alert, my brother!" A familiar voice shook Buck's heart and he opened his eyes. There, standing before him, was Red Bear dressed in the traditional breech cloth and leggings—his enviably long locks, braided and wrapped in otter fur. His deeply tanned face was already showing the signs of age, but his dark eyes were warm.

Buck hadn't realized until that moment just how much he missed Red Bear. A rush of devotion coursed through his veins as he dismounted and eagerly embraced his brother.

Red Bear held him close. "Your heart is heavy, Running Buck."

Buck lifted his eyes to meet his brother's wise gaze. Red Bear didn't seem at all surprised by Buck's unannounced visit.

Red Bear noticed Buck's puzzled expression and smiled. "The Man of Dreams has had a vision. He foresaw your coming back to us when the red sky gave way to darkness."

Buck turned away. "I, too, have had a vision."

Red Bear nodded silently. He knew Running Buck's spirit well and could sense how confusion and fear strove to batter his brother's soul. Something troubled him deeply, but Red Bear knew this was not the time for him to probe Running Buck's sorrow. "You must see The Man of Dreams," Red Bear said finally.

"Yes," Buck whispered—a painful knot forming in his throat. He dreaded revealing the news he knew the tribe must learn.

As the two brothers entered the village together, Buck lowered his head—still unable to face the people his father had betrayed. Even though he had proven himself to be a true Kiowa in spirit the last time he'd encountered his tribe, he knew he would not be fully accepted by them until Kills With A Gun was brought to justice—Kiowa justice.

For most of his life, Buck had believed that the time would never arrive when he could avenge his mother's murder and become one with his people again. Now, the time he had longed for was at hand. Yet, the circumstances under which he would take his revenge caused a riot of conflicting thoughts to rage through his mind. Kills With A Gun was also Jake Michaels—one of Teaspoon's good friends. Buck knew that he would also be killing a part of Teaspoon's own spirit when he brought Jake to justice. The thought was terrible to him. And even though he despised Kills With A Gun for betraying his mother and tribal family—leaving him to wear the heavy chains of shame and to pay for a crime he did not commit—a part of him could hardly conceive of killing the man who had brought him life. . .a man he had truly loved for eight years before the massacre.

The Man of Dreams' tipi stood just outside the camp—separated from the bustle of village life. As they reached the shaman's tent, Buck felt as if he'd stepped into a sacred circle. A sense of peace and safety penetrated his body and allowed him, for a moment, to relax in the hope that he would finally find the answers he needed before he could gather the strength necessary to face his destiny.

Before Red Bear had a chance to make their presence known, The Man of Dreams

emerged from his tipi. The old man's silver-white hair hung loosely down his back all the way to his waist—with the exception of two long, thin braids that fell down over his bare chest. His buckskin trousers were decorated with intricate blue beadwork as were his moccasins. The shaman immediately turned his gray eyes toward the visitor. "Running Buck," he said, "the spirits told me that you would come." He nodded toward Red Bear and motioned for the two to enter the tipi.

Buck took a seat. The woody scent of incense permeated the dwelling. He noticed the many varieties of animals that had been stuffed and hung on all sides of the tipi. The Man of Dreams sat down and lit up a pipe. After making the proper offerings, he passed it to his left. Buck inhaled the pungent smoke—allowing it to linger in his mouth until it slowly drifted out and rose up before his eyes, surrounding him in its welcoming, peaceful cloud. Buck then passed the pipe to his brother and stared out before him.

Some time passed before The Man of Dreams spoke. "I have had a vision," he said. "I saw an eagle—its feet were tangled in briar. As the eagle strove to rise, the thorns tightened their grip and the eagle began to bleed. The blood rose, turning the dry land into red mud for as far as the eye could see. The people became trapped in it—unable to move. Yet, the briar thrived on this blood and grew more powerful as the eagle became sick and the Earth and her people began to weaken and die." He paused for a long moment. The only sounds that could be heard were the gathering call of the crickets in the fields around them and the patient click of the fire as it burned steadily in the center of the tipi. The Man of Dreams spoke again. "I saw your face among the dying, Running Buck. Yet, your feet were not encased in the deadly mud. Instead, you were transformed into a glowing beam of light that filled the sky. Your light washed over the land. Your bright hands gathered up the eagle's blood and carried it off to safety on the horizon. As the blood disappeared, the people were again free to move. But the thirsty briar appeared to wilt and shrink away. Its thorns became like blades of grass—soft and weak. The eagle broke free and rose up—crying out with joy to the sky as it flew to regain its blood. Then you became yourself once more, Running Buck. And the horizon was like a red river as the eagle found its blood and disappeared with the sun. A welcome night settled over the people. You returned to us, Running Buck, and we were overjoyed by your presence."

For some time, Buck did not speak—unsure of how to respond to such a vision. Finally, he raised his eyes and sighed deeply. "Kills With A Gun has returned—I have seen him."

Red Bear suddenly stirred. "Are you sure, my brother?"

"Yes. And I believe he means to do harm to my white friends—but I don't know how." His head fell to his hands as the vision of the canyon settled into view once again. He saw Teaspoon. . . the shadowed figure. . .who was that man? He needed to know, but no matter how hard he tried to focus, the man remained faceless. He raised his head. "I have also had a vision," he explained. "Our ancestors called to me. I saw an old friend—he showed me my white friends being hurt—one of them was about to be shot by. . .I don't know who—but I must know!" Buck's words raced with the pace of his thoughts. The anxiety broke through—glittering in his eyes and pounding in his chest.

The Man of Dreams nodded calmly. "You have not finished dreaming, Running Buck. I will help you."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 Chapter 19

"No. . .chores. . ._my _horse Jimmy. . .more pie. . ." Cody mumbled in his sleep. Jake heard the other riders' heavy, steady breathing as he slowly unwrapped himself from his blanket and silently crept out of the bunkhouse.

A half-moon cast a weak, watery light over the prairie as Jake skillfully retrieved his horse without causing the slightest stir in the corral. He slowly walked the horse out of the station yard then kicked her into a gallop.

It wasn't long before he reached his intended destination. He peered out into the darkness as a shadow emerged from behind the lean-to.

"Jarvis," Jake called, "is that you?"

The figure nodded and approached his leader as Jake dismounted. "It's past midnight. We wasn't sure you was comin' back," Jarvis admitted.

Jake's eyes shone as the excitement welled up in his chest. "Jarvis, I think our ship's finally come in. Lets go inside—we ain't got much time."

The rest of Jake's gang was gathered together inside the crumbling lean-to. Some sat around a rickety old table, lost in the heat of an all-night poker game. Others kept to themselves, steeped in drink.

Jake gritted his teeth as his excitement gave way to burning irritation. He snatched a bottle from one of the men and smashed it against a wall—startling the group to attention.

"The last thing I need right now is to be leadin' a pack of drunks!" He glared at them all impatiently as he leaned his fists on the table top. A tired orange light flickered out from an old oil lamp that sat at the center of the table. The light washed over his face, deepening the shadows under his eyes, as it struggled to cast a sickly glow across his cheeks and lips. "You're all gonna be at Rattlesnake Canyon before sun-up today," Jake ordered. "And you're all gonna hide along the main trail and wait for me." A shallow smile formed at the corners of his mouth. The time for action was finally at hand. Jake could fairly taste sweet victory as the plan fell into place. "The Pony Express is settin' out to deliver a very important message tomorrow, and we're gonna see to it that it never reaches its destination."

He paused for a moment to survey his men. All eyes were trained intently on their leader. The weariness and suspicion that had begun to bubble up in the gang earlier that day had completely evaporated. Jake's intensity whipped through each of them like a shock wave—igniting a renewed sense of strength among them. If they had to, they were ready to follow Jake to the edge of the earth for that money.

"There'll be seven of us comin' through the canyon not long after sunrise," Jake continued. "When we ride in, wait till I give the signal—then attack. Aim to kill, boys. We don't need no witnesses."

A sudden stab of anxiety twisted in his gut. Jake's eyes fell on McDaniels, who stood near the door. "Did you take care of that Indian today?" he asked in a tone so low that the man could hardly hear him.

McDaniels glanced uneasily over at Matthews and Jackson. "Yeah," he answered coolly, as his gaze rested once again on his leader. "He won't be givin' us no trouble."

"Good," Jake answered. He felt a sudden rush of power rise up and pulse through his body. It was time for the final act to begin.

The old Marshal leaned back against the corral. He looked up into the sky and sighed. The darkest hour of night had descended upon the station yard. A sleepy silence wrapped itself snuggly around the entire prairie. The moon could only muster up enough energy to light the top of the barn and paint the rest of the express station in a weak, silvery wash.

Generally, when Teaspoon found himself unable to sleep at night, he found solace by walking through the deep stillness of the express yard. But tonight, the silence caused more apprehension than comfort. He stood still for some time until he heard the sound he was waiting for—horse hooves pacing slowly toward him.

"Where ya been, Jake?" the Marshall asked as he raised his head to find Jake leading his horse on by the reigns.

Jake's heart jumped back in surprise. "Teaspoon? What are you doin' out here?"

"I was just about to ask you that very question," Teaspoon answered—the agitation rising in his throat.

"I couldn't sleep," Jake explained as he tried to gain entrance to the corral—but Teaspoon blocked his way.

"So you decided to take yer horse out for a couple hours' jaunt in the middle of the night?" Teaspoon responded as he met Jake's gaze.

Jake smiled. "Yeah, you hit it just about right, Teaspoon. I was lyin' there in the bunkhouse, and I kept thinkin' about all the trouble you've been havin' with the Indians stealin' your mail—and how dangerous it is out there. Then I got to thinkin' about you and me and all the great times we had together back in Deadwood. . ."

"And all that thinkin' made you feel like sneakin' out here in the dead of night?" Teaspoon finished.

"I wasn't sneakin', Teaspoon," Jake stated in a hurt tone. "I just didn't want anyone else to have to share my sleepless night, is all. Ridin' helps me think through things—it don't matter what time of day it is." He glanced out over the horizon. "You got a plan about what territory we're gonna ride through to get to Saint Joe?"

"Yeah. We'll probably head out past Grand Junction and go on through the flat lands."

"Ain't that the long way around?"

"Maybe, but I don't want to risk us getting into trouble by takin' a short cut."

Jake let the silence settle in between them a moment before he ventured his idea. "I was thinkin' that we might head through Rattlesnake Canyon for part of the way. It's a pretty safe spot—and it'll get us to Saint Joe faster than runnin' all over the plains will. It might be worth takin' the short cut, Teaspoon—could maybe save some lives."

The Marshal considered this. Though he felt a tug at his common sense warning him against short cuts, he couldn't help but feel a little ashamed of himself for ever entertaining the notion that Jake was up to no good. Jake Michaels was willing to risk his neck to help him and the others get that message through. Any man who was ready to die for his friend—even after fifteen years apart—deserved to be trusted. Teaspoon felt it was the least he could do when he considered the countless times Jake had saved his life back in Deadwood.

"All right," he said finally. "Sounds like a plan." He squinted up at the sky. The moon's weak glow began to die out completely as the horizon lightened to gray. It was almost sunrise. "Well, looks like the two of us ain't gonna get much sleep tonight. Why don't you go in and wake up the boys. It's about time we head out."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20 Chapter 20

"The night has come. And now, Running Buck, you must once again travel to the land of spirits." The Man of Dreams raised the small bowl that sat before him and passed it to Buck. "In this bowl, you will find a new path to an old world. Re-discover the silent stream of truth within you. Allow yourself to drink deeply of the knowledge that rests there as you travel beyond this life and into the other. Your brother and I will keep watch here and await your return."

Buck cupped the bowl carefully in his hands. The firelight flickered upon the clear liquid as he swirled it around and offered it to the six directions. He lifted his eyes toward his brother, who returned the gaze—his face glowing red in the fire's patient flame. The Man of Dreams began a low chant—calling to the grandfather spirit for guidance.

Buck brought the bowl to his lips. He hesitated—unsure of where his journey would lead him or if he would return. But, as Red Bear joined in the chant, Buck found the courage he needed and he took a drink.

The bitter liquid flowed over his tongue and washed down his throat. For a moment, nothing happened. Buck turned toward the shaman, but the old man was lost in prayer. He then rested his gaze on the fire. He froze as his throat suddenly choked with fear. The once tame flames began to lick the air greedily as they were transformed before his eyes into a blazing swarm of snakes. They whipped through the tipi—rushing past the chanting men—and began to coil themselves around Buck's body. The fire-snakes twisted and crackled about him, yet they did not scorch his skin. Instead, the flames called out to him—whispering in a language only his soul could understand.

Buck gasped as a great burning pain rose from within him—welling up from his toes—forcing its way to the top of his head. The pain pulsed through his body—screaming for release. Buck's head flew back as a great white light rushed, like a tormented river, from his mouth. Buck felt himself dissolving into the newly created light—loosing himself helplessly in its vast expanse of nothingness.

Then, from out of nowhere, he heard the screeching cry of an eagle. The great bird descended before his eyes, its mighty wings spread from one edge of Buck's awareness to the other. The eagle cocked its head and stared mournfully at the young Kiowa. Fear gripped Buck's heart. He was powerless to fight against the vision as the eagle penetrated his mind and spirit. The bird's probing black eye suddenly grew larger—desperately reaching out to him—until finally, it enveloped Buck—shrouding him in total darkness.

For a moment, all was silent. A death-like chill pressed itself mercilessly against Buck's weary soul. He felt he must be slipping into death as the echoing cries of the massacred Kiowa began to infiltrate his ears. He heard the women screaming—the children crying—the white men laughing—as the gunshots ripped through the black world that surrounded him. He sensed his spirit faltering—surrendering itself humbly to the waves of despair that now assailed him.

He was ready to die.

Suddenly, he discerned a shallow light growing in the distance. A flicker of hope stirred within him as the blue shadows lit up in a wash of red and then spread across a vast sky—brightening into a golden yellow. The light reached out to touch his face, then gathered him up in its loving embrace. A soft, patient breeze wafted past his ears. _"Find your strength in the rising sun, _it whispered.

Buck raised his head and gazed out toward the edge of the new horizon. He felt a presence beside him. It was Red Bear, dressed for war, sitting proudly atop his horse. Buck quickly glanced around and realized that he was standing in the midst of a pack of Kiowa warriors.

Then the canyon appeared before him. He heard the crack of gunfire.

"Take cover! It's a trap!" Teaspoon's voice echoed in his ears.

"Lou!" Kid screamed from somewhere out of sight.

Buck looked down into the canyon. As the sun rose up into the sky, he felt his own spirit rise with it—becoming stronger with each breath he took. He saw the Marshal fall to his knees. A man stood before Teaspoon with his back to Buck. The faceless man cocked his gun and took aim at the Marshal's head.

Buck felt the glow of the sun penetrate his entire being as a growing certainty cleared all confusion from his mind. "Kills With A Gun!" he cried.

The man with the gun spun around—staggering in the light that washed through the canyon.

"It is time," Buck said in Kiowa, as the canyon began to darken and the sky disappeared.

From far away, he heard The Man of Dreams' chant calling him back to the living world as total darkness surrounded him once again. Then he heard the sound of footsteps pacing toward him. His heart froze as the unmistakable creek of a gallows echoed across his mind. _"God have mercy on your soul. . ." _a voice rang out. _"Have mercy. . ._

_Have mercy. . ."_

Buck opened his eyes and found himself sitting in The Man of Dreams' tipi. The fire that once burned brightly at the center of the tipi was now nearly extinguished. Though Buck did not know how long he had been in the vision, he sensed that the night was still upon him.

For a moment, Buck stared, dazed and numb from his journey. Then he felt his brother's hand rest gently on his shoulder. Buck looked up into Red Bear's face and smiled.

Red Bear sighed with relief. "You have returned, my brother."

Buck turned to The Man of Dreams who had ended his chant and sat patiently waiting for the young Kiowa to speak.

"I know now what must be done," Buck stated without hesitation.

The Man of Dreams nodded. "Then let it be so."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21 Chapter 21

The sun rose up above them—rushing like a bloody river—as the riders entered Rattlesnake Canyon.

"I hate mornin' runs," Cody muttered as his eyelids drooped, still heavy with sleep.

"Stop your complainin'," Hickock mumbled.

"I ain't complainin'. I's just statin' a fact, is all." He twisted around in his saddle and glared at Hickock. "I got a right to say the truth, Jimmy." Then he turned back around and sighed. "Man, I wish I was Buck right now. He's the only one of us smart enough ta get outta town before bein' suckered into this job. I bet he's still sleepin' like a baby."

"Least he ain't actin' like one," Noah put in.

"All right, you boys stop yer jawin'," Teaspoon ordered.

Hickock glanced over at the Marshal. "Where is Buck, anyway?" he asked—a twinge of suspicion in his voice.

"I don't know," Teaspoon answered flatly—hoping the subject would be dropped. He still wasn't quite ready to accept Buck back into his good graces after his exhibition in front of Jake the day before.

"Teaspoon!" Jake called from his position out in front of the pack. Jake slowed his pace and motioned for the Marshal to ride forward.

"What is it?" Teaspoon asked as he maneuvered his horse next to his friend's.

"Oh, just feelin' a little lonesome up here," Jake smiled. "Told you goin' through the canyon was a good move. It's so safe, I'm getting bored ridin' point."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather be bored than fightin' off an Indian attack," Teaspoon admitted.

Jake swallowed hard as his heart began to race. He felt the energy rise up within him—shooting electrically through every bone in his body. He began to sweat with anticipation as the blood pounded in his ears. He rested his gaze on the Marshal—his eyes glittering with an excitement he could barely contain. "You know, Teaspoon," he began, "you're a real good man."

Teaspoon looked at his friend closely. He recognized that glint in Jake's eye. A sudden uneasiness crept through his body—warning him to be cautious.

"What I mean is," Jake continued, "there ain't many like you who'd stand up and risk his life for his friends like you're doin' for these riders here. Takes a special man, Teaspoon—a real special man." He glanced off into the bushes that lay silently along the trail. It was time. He turned to the Marshal once again. His green eyes turned to ice as a shallow smile twitched along one corner of his mouth. He touched the brim of his hat. "I'm gonna miss you."

Teaspoon's gut wrenched, then shot up into his throat. His blood ran cold as Jake spun his horse around and drew his gun. The Marshal's brain went numb as Jake's men emerged from the brush—guns blazing.

Suddenly, Teaspoon found his voice. "Take cover! It's a trap!" he yelled, then slapped Jake's horse hard before he dismounted and ran behind a rock. The slap spooked the horse—throwing Jake to the ground. But it wasn't long before Jake was on his feet—laughing as the bullets ripped through the sky.

The riders scrambled for cover. Hickock drew his gun—shooting frantically at anything that moved. He spied a fallen log and lunged for it—only to be greeted by one of Jake's men who'd been hiding there waiting for just that moment.

"Time to die, friend," the man sneered. A crack rang through Hickock's ears. The attacker's eyes grew wide—staring into nothingness—as he crumpled to the ground.

"Not today," Cody answered from behind his smoking six-shooter. "You owe me one, Jimmy," he called as he ran out onto the trail—his gun aimed squarely at Jake's head. But a sudden searing pain in his leg overpowered him and he fell to the ground—the blood already seeping through his pants.

"Cody!" Noah cried as he ran for his friend and dragged him into the brush.

"It ain't that bad," Cody whispered as his face creased with pain.

Hickock, whose attention had been diverted to the wounded rider, was suddenly grazed by a bullet in the shoulder. He fell behind the nearby log, trying desperately to aim his gun at his assailant, as the blood burned through his skin.

"Lou!" Kid's voice rang out from amidst the gunfire.

"Stop your shooting, boys!" Jake ordered and his men immediately halted their attack. "You express riders can throw down your guns!" Jake cried as he forced Lou's back closer to his chest. "Throw 'em down _now _or this one dies!"

"Do what he says!" Teaspoon called from his hiding place.

Reluctantly, they all complied, knowing that they were outnumbered.

"Good," Jake grinned. A giddy rush of excitement trembled up into his mouth and he laughed. "Now you can give me what I want. Hand over the message—and maybe I'll let him go."

"Michaels," Teaspoon cried out, "let Lou go now, and we'll give you whatever you want."

Michaels smiled in the direction of his old friend's voice. The riders were going to die

anyway—why not have some fun, first? "Fine, Teaspoon. Come out and I'll let him go."

The Marshal emerged from behind a rock and slowly stepped out onto the main trail until hie stood only a few feet before Jake and Lou.

"Now let him go," Teaspoon ordered.

"OK," Jake answered simply and threw Lou off of him. She hit the ground with a thud.

"Why are you doin' all this, Jake?" Teaspoon asked trying not to allow the devastation that smoldered in his heart rise up into his voice.

"Why not?" Jake replied smartly. Then his face turned to stone as slowly, he raised his gun—aiming with cold precision at the Marshal's head. "On your knees, old man. Now!"

Teaspoon felt his legs give out from under him as he fell to the ground. He threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender—hoping this was all just a horrible dream—but knowing full well it wasn't. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth—preparing himself for what he was sure was coming next.

Suddenly, a sharp cry echoed through the canyon—then another and another—until a chorus of voices sliced through the sky. Teaspoon's eyes shot open to discover a Kiowa war party bounding into the canyon. There were at least twenty men; their painted faces accentuated the fearlessness that surrounded each of them like an impenetrable shield as they raced in at full speed.

Jake froze in the commotion, but his men kicked up into a terrified retreat as the Natives took aim. One by one, they shot at the outlaws with pitiless accuracy.

"Great!" Hickock yelled. "Ambushed by outlaws _then _slaughtered by Indians!" He ran for his gun.

"Jimmy, wait!" Kid called. Through the chaos, he noticed a familiar face. "I don't think they're out to kill _us._"

"What the hell are you thinkin'?!" Hickock screamed.

"Look!" Kid pointed in the direction of two warriors riding slowly into the canyon side by side. One of the two, whose hair was braided and wrapped in otter fur, called out to the Kiowa men. To everyone's surprise, the Indians halted their attack. The two warriors then headed straight to Jake who had been purposely left unscathed by the Kiowa. The Kiowa with the braided hair slowed his horse to a stop near the trail, but the other one continued forward.

Hickock took a good look at the young warrior. He was dressed only in a pair of buckskin trousers. A string of red suns had been painted down one of his pant legs. Hickock noticed the blade of a knife sticking out of his waistband, glinting in the sunlight. The warrior's feet were bare. Two eagle feathers dangled from a thin braid in his long dark hair. The feathers flew back in a fresh breeze that began to waft through the canyon. Hickock's mouth dropped open as he gazed upon the warrior's face. It was truly a sight to behold—covered with war paint in a pattern Hickock had never seen before. From one edge of his jaw to the other and all across his lips was a thick stripe of black paint. Above that, from cheek bone to cheek bone and over his nose, lay a band of deep blue. His eyes and temples were encased in a blaze of red, and just above his eyebrows was drawn a thin stripe of bright yellow. He looked, to Hickock, like the horizon itself—rising up from darkness into the full light of day. Even thus transformed, Hickock knew immediately who it was that had come to save them.

The warrior's eyes were focused on only one person. "Kills With A Gun!" he cried out in Kiowa.

A stunned Michaels spun around to the sound of his name. The bright mid-morning sun pierced his eyes as he struggled to see the warrior's face. Jake's breath smothered itself in his throat. The rising sun lit up the young Kiowa from behind until he appeared to glow—pulsating with powerful medicine.

"It is time," the warrior said in Kiowa. Then he dismounted. He removed the knife from his waistband and approached the outlaw.

A shaken Teaspoon found his way to his feet and finally put two and two together. "Buck?"

But the Kiowa did not respond. His dark eyes dug deep into his father's face.

Jake sought desperately for words that might buy him some time. "Running Buck?" he answered in Kiowa as he tried to smile. "You wouldn't kill your own father, would you?"

"My father is dead," Buck replied coldly in Kiowa. "He died the day my mother was shot in the back—the day a man named Jake Michaels raped my people's spirit for fifty dollars. I am here to avenge the deaths of my mother and my Kiowa brothers. I am here to bring a murderer to justice."

Jake's hands shook. He tried to raise his gun—which he suddenly realized he still gripped in his hand.

"I wouldn't try that if I was you," Teaspoon warned as he cocked his own gun.

"Drop it," Kid said, appearing at the Marshal's side.

Jake's mouth quivered as the nausea tumbled in his stomach. This wasn't fun anymore.

"OK, Buck. We've got him," Teaspoon said slowly. "Put the knife away."

Buck's eyes fell to Jake's necklace. The golden stone shone brightly—calling to its rightful owner. Buck approached Jake. He raised his knife to Michaels' neck. Jake felt the cold steel rest patiently against his throat.

"Buck, don't!" Kid cried out.

Buck moved in closer, pressing the knife mercilessly along Jake's windpipe. Buck's face was only inches away from his father's. He looked deep into those green eyes he had loved as a child—those green eyes that now stared back at him without love—without life. "You will die," Buck whispered from between clenched teeth.

Jake gasped as Buck jerked at the necklace. The knife sliced through the air as he cut through the leather strap and the necklace fell into his grip. "You will die," he repeated, "but not by my hand."

Buck raised his eyes past Michaels and let them rest on the Marshal who stood only steps behind the two. "This is the man who killed those express riders," he said.

"You can't prove that!" Jake shot out.

"Oh, I think we can," Lou called out from the brush nearby. "This one's still alive!" With Lou's help, a wounded Jarvis sat up and glared at his former leader. If he was going to hang, he'd make sure Jake went down with him.

Teaspoon moved in behind Michaels and began tying him up. "Game's over, Michaels," he said. "Looks like you dealt yerself a loosin' hand."

Epilogue 


	22. Epilogue

Epilogue Epilogue

Teaspoon glanced up into the sky and sighed. The afternoon sun glared down through an unending field of blue, covering the Earth in a shimmering hot haze. The Marshal removed his hat and wiped his forehead as he looked out into the street. The townsfolk were beginning to gather. Children bounded through the town, weaving through the spectators, as friends and neighbors greeted one another—exchanging the day's news as they waited for the event to begin.

Teaspoon shook his head in disgust as a sick sensation rose up into his throat. _You'd think the circus was comin' to town the way they're actin',_ he thought bitterly. Teaspoon gritted his teeth hard. He'd witnessed many a hanging in his day, but never before had he been assailed by the emotions that attacked him now.

His head knew it was right that Jake should pay for his crimes. But his old heart still clung desperately to the belief that, underneath it all, Jake Michaels was a good man. He'd just gone astray—as did so many men living in the untamed West. If he were given just a little more time, Jake would come to his senses and change his ways.

Oh, who was he kidding? Jake Michaels was out to please only one man—himself. He was a con-artist, a thief and a cold-blooded killer—plain and simple. Teaspoon kicked at the ground absent-mindedly. He knew well enough that Jake would never have 'come to his senses,' because he never had any to begin with. He was a man born without sense—without conscience.

The Marshal took a deep breath as a hot wave of shame crashed over him. He could

hardly admit to himself that he'd been duped by Michaels. He had actually allowed himself to believe that lair—against his better judgement—even to the point of endangering the lives of the boys he called his family. He had prided himself in his ability to teach those boys about the ways of the world. He even fancied himself something of a father figure to the unlikely group of orphans. But now, as he finally allowed himself to recognize how he'd been betrayed, he began to wonder if he had the right to lecture his riders about life. He had so much to learn, himself.

A hand rested gently on his shoulder, rousing the Marshal from his contemplation. He turned around to discover Buck standing before him.

"Are you all right?" Buck asked quietly.

Teaspoon took a good look at the young man. Of all people, Buck had the most right to feel hurt and betrayed. Through Teaspoon didn't know the whole story, he was fairly certain that Buck had known Michaels long before he had met him.

"I'm fine," Teaspoon answered.

"I'm sorry you had to learn about Michaels the hard way, Teaspoon," Buck admitted—his eyes trained on the gallows that loomed over the center of the now crowded street.

"It's better than not learnin' at all," Teaspoon replied as he eyed Buck closely. The rider's face was expressionless, but the Marshal was quick to notice how Buck's left hand moved up to stroke Ike's bandanna as he sought for some comfort from his dead friend. In his right hand, Buck gripped Jake's necklace tightly.

"You know," Teaspoon began, "you don't have to stay for this if you don't want to."

Buck turned toward the Marshal. "I'll be all right," he answered calmly.

"OK, then. We'd best get this over with." Teaspoon turned to Barnett, who'd been standing nearby, awaiting Teaspoon's instructions. "You and Mitchell go on in an' get the prisoner."

Teaspoon nodded toward the executioner who somberly donned his black hood and ascended the scaffold. A hush fell upon the crowd as Michaels was escorted from the jail. He squinted painfully in the bright light, then hurriedly sought out the Marshal. "I'll see you in Hell!" he screamed as the men led him away.

Buck lowered his head. The sound of Jake's footsteps knocked through his ears as the man climbed the last few feet to his death. Buck heard the preacher read from the Bible—something about green pastures and still waters. An anonymous man behind him mumbled, "kill the bastard, already!" while a woman tried to quiet her crying baby.

"God have mercy on your soul," the preacher finished.

Buck raised his eyes to find Jake staring at him. The hangman secured the noose in place. Buck gripped the necklace tighter in his fist as a final, bitter smile appeared on Jake's lips.

The trap door swung open. In an instant, it was over.

The crowd began to break up. Buck stood still for a moment, watching the lifeless body dangle before him as the townsfolk went about their business.

"Hey!" he heard Cody's voice as the rider limped up beside him. "Let's go back to the station. Rachel just made us one of her famous strawberry pies!"

Buck stared at the rider. _Just what would it take to get Cody's mind OFF food?_ he wondered to himself. Then, suddenly, he felt a strange and welcome urge overpower him and he started to laugh. "Are you serious?" he asked as he felt a great weight of tension fall from his shoulders.

Cody's face went red. "I wasn't tryin' ta be funny, Buck. When the hell is anyone around here gonna take me seriously?" He turned around and wobbled off in a huff.

"You OK, son?" Teaspoon called as he walked up behind Buck.

"Yeah, Teaspoon," he replied as he finally composed himself. "I think maybe I just need to be alone for a minute."

The old man nodded, then motioned to the other riders who had gathered around to head out.

Buck drew a deep breath. The sun was hot, but he welcomed its light. He allowed it to penetrate deep into his spirit. It was the light of truth—a light that signaled a new era in his life.

Suddenly, he remembered Grace Soliel. He saw her deep brown eyes smiling at him—her body shimmering like a sunbeam. He glanced down at the necklace and rubbed his fingers gently over the stone. Then he heard Grace's voice call to him once more. _"Find your strength in the rising sun,"_ she said.

"Rising sun. . ." Buck repeated. Then his heart leapt up as he realized who the spirit woman really was.

THE END 


End file.
